


Serifot

by Soobiebear



Category: Opeth (Band), Porcupine Tree
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 13:08:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3174524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soobiebear/pseuds/Soobiebear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written as a gift for Cainhatesyou and apertionem in 2014. The prompt was 'Steven Wilson,Mikael Akerfeldt (Porcupine Tree,Opeth): The making of their album together (Storm Corrosion), Please tell me I´m not the only one that feels something more than friendship in there! .'  Title is taken from Scott Walker's "The Escape" from <i>The Drift</i>, a must listen to song and album for any SC fan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kew Gardens

Steven was already in trouble before he arrived at the venue. He stumbled a few times on his way down towards the river, sliding on some errant goose droppings. There was a small crowd of smokers gathered around the main entrance, and he was quickly pulled into the ardent hero worship he had always tried to avoid. The marijuana was flowing freely, most everyone smoked despite the threat of police intervention.

That was the good thing with the Prog scene. Societal rules were meant for someone else. They were all different. From the stuffiest ex-scholar to the zaniest Scotsman, each had found out years ago that they were pigeon-holed, intellectually and creatively.

After several hardy slaps on the back, Steven circulated before the event started. Seems like he's worked with just about everyone here, always seeing someone just the next table over who caught his eye and smiled. The wine flowed, no shitty cheep beer here, and Steve felt himself relax a bit. It was his night, his award. Well, him and Rick Wakeman apparently.

Mikael was to be here somewhere, and his good friend would be a welcome distraction and a familiar comfort he’d been without since the PR ended for Storm Corrosion. He missed his friend and his company; Mikael always made him laugh and feel better about the greater world.

He was tired of socializing and stopped at a table. The wine was heavy in his belly as the pot lingered in his lungs. He knew people would come to him if he didn't go to them. He vaguely wished for how it was years ago, when he could go to a studio and not get waylaid at every point from the front door to the reception desk, and back to the recording board. At least he could still get to Sainsbury's unnoticed - most of the time.

Geoff Downes passed him by to sit with Keith Emerson and Carl Palmer. Steve had a drink in relief, that guy was a nutter if his Twitter feed was any indication. He checked his phone; things would be getting started very shortly and chairs were starting to fill up. Scanning the room, he frowned when the only tallish person he saw was a very bald, very loud Fish. Mikael was tall, but at least four inches shorter than the lumbering giant.

To his surprise, Steve Hackett slid into a seat next to him. "Mind if I sit here?"

"No, 'sallright." Steven nervously scrolled through his phone. He would have to end this tardiness habit Mikael was developing.

"Band problems," Steve motioned over to a farther table where Tony Banks sat talking with Mike Rutherford. "You know how it is."

"Yeah." There was an awkward pause as both men looked around the room. "Ever deal with anyone who was always late?" Steven watched as Hogarth pulled at his hair, making it stand up on end and pretending to blow dry it with his other hand in front of one of the few women in the crowd.

Hackett smiled, then chuckled to himself. "Yeah, a bit, but he might have some more insight." Rick Wakeman was hassling one of the servers, looking through a menu and looking more like a senior banker than the capes and poppadums he was known for. "The Fish name just never got too far into the public conscious."

"Oh, ha ha, yeah." Steven laughed along, trying not to be so nervous. It was just a damned award, even if he was here alone all night it wasn't the end of the world. He could go home after, or hang out with Derek, or anyone of his choosing really. What was 'Guiding Light' anyway, and why couldn't he tell anyone before hand that he had won, maybe it would have been the encouragement people needed to get here on time. He sent off a terse text. This crowd was making his skin itch, all expectations and inane banter while the journalists were no doubt misrepresenting everything or just making a big joke out of it all again. It wouldn't do for an award presenter to be late. Maybe they'd just shift the schedule around a bit.

A waiter came by and dropped of two more bottles of wine. Steven's glass was refilled without him even asking. More alcohol to mask whatever was missing, isn't that what the old guys always used to do? Mikael was presenting an award of all things, unless there was an accident, he should be here. Steven's mind started to wander, what if he was in A&E somewhere, or hurt on some gritty street corner while yobs attacked his taxi? Mikael was already skittish from being robbed twice before and it was the last thing Steven wanted him to associate with London.

The cologne alerted him to Mikael's presence before the slight swish of denim and the scraping of chair legs. Steven focused on the warm phone in his hands. Still waiting on a text from that fucker as a leather jacket dropped over the back of his chair.

"Sorry," Mikael volunteered as he reached for a wine glass. "Held up in traffic." He crossed his long legs and stole Steven's wine, taking a long sip. "You alright?"

"Do I look alright?" Steven asked as he turned off his phone screen, pushing the electronic toy towards the centerpiece. "You're fucking late."

"Fucking late, late fucking..." Mikael snorted into the wine glass, already reaching for Steven's phone. Steven batted Mikael's hand away, narrowing his eyes.

"You could have texted."

Mikael took in the red rimmed eyes and nervous drum of Steven's fingers on the table. "Awww, little British Man is uptight." Steven shifted in his seat. "Is adorable." He reached out and brushed Steven's long bangs back behind an ear, letting the blonde curtain fall back where it had started. It was his thing, his way of being physical without doing something totally inappropriate in public. Plus anytime he got to run his fingers through the smooth strands was always a bonus.

A small tittering came from the other side of Steven, and for the first time Mikael looked to see who Steven was sitting next to. "Ah, Mr. Hackett." Mikael reached out his hand, the one that had just brushed Steven's hair. "I'm Mikael."

The other Steve met his hand in a solid shake. "Good to meet you again." Steve pulled his hand back but Mikael's landed on the back of Steven's chair protectively.

"How long are you in town for?"

"Don't know." Mikael tried to remember his schedule. "Few days, depends."

"If you want to jam, just let me know. I only live a bit from here."

"Cool," Mikel felt his friend ignoring him as he talked across him to Steve. "Are you here for an award tonight?" Steven had a way of locking all his muscles when he was unhappy, and his shoulders were rigid.

"Lifetime achievement," Steve said, rolling his eyes and hitching a thumb over his shoulder at his ex-bandmates who were taking personal photos. "You getting awards?"

"Uh, no." Mikael left a pause for Steven, who merely nodded without saying anything. "I didn't have a release this year."

"Lovely. I do need to circulate for a bit before we start. I'd advise both of you to do the same. Back soon." They way he said it wasn't an order, but it wasn't to be ignored either.

"Photo shoot is after the awards?"

Steven turned to look at him. "You bloody well missed the first set."

"No bother," said Mikael. There will be more after the ceremony." Seeing that Steven was still upset he kept talking. "Did you get a schedule? When do I present?"

"Do you think I fucking know?"

"Whoa, wait." Mikael brushed Steven's hair again only to have him flinch away. "All because I am late?"

"Stop it." Steven reached for his phone again, staring at the screen, flipping through old messages, and ignoring Mikael.

"I will go away then, and you will be happy." Steven waived him away without even looking in his direction. Mikael picked up his stolen glass of wine and headed for the bar. He ordered Steven's favourite Irish Creme and brought it back to the table, sliding it around the clutched hands that held a mobile phone. Still not getting a response, Mikael wandered away again. If Steven wanted to act like a woman, it was his right. There were other people he could hang out with tonight while Steven sat alone, waiting for people to come to him.

Mikael kept an eye on Steven while he circulated, watching who sat down with him and how they leaned in to whisper in his ear. Part of it was the loudness of the crowd; half of them were half deaf after a career in the industry, the other half were just loud and obnoxious. Something in Steven drew people to him, sometimes the wrong sort of people. He could fend for himself, but there was still a part or Mikael that was protective of his smaller, frailer friend. A darker part that had already claimed Steven as his own and wanted to keep him all to himself.

It would make a good concept album when he was a little older and more settled with himself.

Things were happening on stage, and it was about time things started happening. Mikael checked out his phone and typed out a quick message. "Jag är ledsen för sent," and hit the send button, waiting for the 4G to find a network. He watched Steven, saw his shoulders relax the slightest bit when he read the message and ran in through Google Translate. He switched his phone off an pocketed it, heading back for the table.

"No one knows what is going on with these awards," he complained as he sat down. He leaned into Steven and whispered "I am sorry," before sitting up straight and scooting his chair in.

Steven mumbled something and finally put his phone away as well, leaving his hands unoccupied. "Geoff Downes says hi."

Mikael smiled, but made a 'uuugh' noise between his clenched teeth.

With minimal stumbling and fumbling the awards show got off to a kick. There was a steady stream of people moving around, talking, video presentations, and flash bulbs. For a short time old rivalries were put aside and old jokes were made new again.

Mikael clapped along when it was announced that Steven had won the 'Guiding Light' award. He had wanted that one for himself. It was good that Steven had an award to his credit and Mikael was proud of him. He didn't have much time to think about it as an official tapped on his shoulder and pulled him aside, getting him ready to present an award. It all went fairly smooth, given the lack of planning.

The emcee closed out the awards and the house lights came up again. People milled around and continued talking, snapping photos on cell phones and keeping the bar busy. Hackett circled around and stood near Mikael, watching as people went about congratulating each other.

"Never thought I'd see them congratulate each other over things done thirty years ago." Hackett held on to his drink, people watching.

Mikael nodded and grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing server. "There does seem to be an excessive amount of back slapping."

"Back slapping is only a few inches away from back stabbing, my young friend. Best watch yourself, if you know what I mean."

"Yes, well..." Mikael drank from his glass, diplomatically thinking of what to say. "Everyone's different, are they not?"

"And people change. Constantly."

Mikael was getting very uncomfortable. Steve was a great guy, but he was sure there was a veiled message he was missing. "Care to join me at the bar, I need something other than this."

Steve declined, holding his fort at the empty table as Mikael worked his way through the crowd. The ice clinked as he worked back from the bar and towards a still circled Steven. Reaching an arm through the well wishers, he held the tumbler out for Steven, who took it with a slight nod of thanks. Mikael wiggled his eyebrows and pointed in the direction of the mens room.

Mikael stopped at the table again, letting Hackett know he'd be back in a while. Taking his jacket and checking the pockets, he headed to the bathroom, surreptitiously looking around to see who was watching. He slipped in unnoticed and found it empty. Perfect. Choosing a stall, he locked himself in and waited for Steven.

Shortly, squeaky black trainers came through the swinging door and stood in front of the two sinks. Mikael threw the bolt on the only stall and pushed the door out.

"Hey."

"Hey," Steven said back. "What cha want?"

"What? No thanks for your drinks? Typical."

Steven pursed his lips. "Thank you." He swallowed the last of the lukewarm Irish Cream and set the crystal tumbler on the sink. "For both of them."

"I wanted to say congratulations on your award. Even though it should be mine." He grinned, letting Steven know he was just joking.

"It means a lot. Never thought I'd get an award because of all this."

"You deserve it."

"Thanks," Steven said, tucking his bangs behind his ear. Mikael leaned in closer and held his arms out. He would be getting lucky if Steven was touching his own hair, it was one of his little signals. "Just for a little bit. I have to get back out there."

They hugged, clinging on in a world that had gone slightly arse over tit. This time there was no back slapping, only Mikael's small rubs, revealing some of the knotted muscles in Steven's back. "God, you're tense."

Steven's voice was muffled by Mikael's shoulder. "You would be too if everyone wanted a piece of you."

"Want a hit? Just enough to take the edge off? It's not that Dutch stuff."

"Yeah, just a little." Mikael kissed Steven's forehead, pulling away and reaching into his jacket pocket. He packed the pipe and readied the lighter, not letting Steven back too far out of arms reach.

"What did they call it? Shotgun!" Mikael wrapped his arms around Steven's neck as he lit the small pipe, inhaling the sweet smoke. He leaned down and met Steven's upturned face, sealing their lips together and letting Steven suck the breath from his lungs. Mikael stuck his tongue out and ran it against Steven's tongue, flicking their tips together, mimicking other thoughts Mikael was having.

Steven squirmed deliciously against him, closing his mouth as the smoke was exchanged. Mikael breathed in through his nose, the smells of smoke and Steven too much. Steven tried to hold in his cough and pulled his lips away, burying his face in Mikael's shoulder, eventually turning his head and releasing their breaths. Mikael kept his hands moving over the warm cotton of Steven's tshirt.

"I would really like to fuck you now." Mikael rested his head against Steven's and trailed a hand down to the front of Steven's jeans. "Maybe just suck your cock." Mikael slid his hands down to Steven's rear and grabbed. "You'd like that, would you not? With everyone out there..."

Mikael pulled their hips together, feeling Steven against his own hardness. Steven was breathing heavily into his shoulder and clinging on tightly to Mikael's waist, not being his usual quietly aggressive self. Growling softly, Mikael pushed Steven against the wall and ground into him. "God, I could fuck you right here, right now..." Steven shifted and mumbled into the bitten shirt. Mikael leaned back slightly, pushing at Steven's shoulders to look into his fevered eyes through his fogged glasses. "I can not fuck you." Steven's eyes widened. "Yet," Mikael added. "Don't you have some pictures to take with your award?"

Blue eyes flickered right and left and then blinked, desperation starting to take over the emptiness. Steven's hands slid down and grabbed at Mikael's belt loops, pulling them both back into the wall. His head tilted as he reached up towards Mikael, lips seeking and finally connecting with Mikael's.

After indulging him, Mikael pulled away again reluctantly and ran a single finger down the side of Steven's face. "I was not joking. You are needed for pictures." Steven buried his face in Mikael's shoulder again and sighed. Mikael held him close and petted the gorgeous straight hair while Steven calmed himself. It was still a long night ahead of them and Mikael regretted getting Steven worked up like this while they still had things to do. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Steven cleared his dry throat. "You'll pay for this later, you fucker."

"You do not have a stain on your jeans so no punishment." Steven's silences always meant something, and this silence either meant Mikael was either in for a good time later or a great time. Mikael kissed Steven's forehead again and pulled himself away to adjust his jeans. He checked the time on his phone and then looked at Steven's rumpled shirt and not quite photo ready jeans. "You ready?"

"Yeah..." said Steven absentmindedly. He was plotting, Mikael could tell he was also running lacking a few cylinders at the moment. Mikael finger combed Steven's hair and grinned with the rare moment of docility. He hoped a much more pushy and domineering Steven would come out to meet the media, but vetoed the idea remembering he would be dragged out as well.

"I'll be around." Mikael pushed his way out of the bathroom and back into the crowd, schmoozing and mingling again, no one calling out his absence. Quickly he was found by Steve Hackett and dragged deeper into the crowd.


	2. Prog Rock Awards

Too soon he realized he knew more about his best new friend than he had ever intended to. Steve was easy to talk to, slightly bitter and jaded, but still positive. Best of all he had lots of interesting stories, both professional and personal. He caught odd glimpses of Steven all night; Steven having a drink, Steven laughing, Steven posing and having his photo taken.

"What's he doing now?" Steve swirled his drink and looked across the room. Mikael knitted his eyebrows not admitting he knew what Steve was talking about. "You tense every time someone gets near him."

Mikael closed his eyes, his cover blown. "Have I been that obvious?"

"Only when you know what you're seeing." Steve smiled wanly and chuckled. "Frankly, I think it's adorable. Reminds me of my youth."

Thankful he wasn't being judged, Mikael opened up a little, the large burning pit in his stomach turned down into a medium burning pit. "It's difficult."

"It's only hard because you make it that way. Unfortunately, that never changes."

Mikael stared at his own drink. "He's watching me too, isn't he?"

"Like a hawk."

"Damn." Mikael checked his phone again, looking at the time. "Can't wait to get out of here."

"Some of us are heading out to Soho after, you coming?

Mikael looked over at Steven again, still posing by the backdrop with Mark Palmer. "Yes. Yeah, I could use a drink."

"It's around the corner from the Starbucks on Charning Cross. Can't miss it."

"Text me the directions, I am horrible at remembering." The inevitable exchange of numbers happened, and Steve promised to send him directions shortly, Mikael's eyes still on Steven and the photography area, Steven looking awkward and stunned by the flash from the camera. Without even a word to Steve, who was busily clicking away on his phone, Mikael bee lined to the backdrop, dropping into Steven's photo shoot.

"You look like you missed your daily fucking," Mikael leaned into Steven's ear and growled. Immediately Steven straightened his shoulders and dropped the awkward smile he had worn. The flushed skin was another story. He hoped everyone would blame that on the alcohol. Quickly he backed away and posed for some photos. The flunky working the camera clicked away, asking them to move a little left, a little forward, smile more.

Soon enough they were pushed aside by the young kids from Tesseract, eager for their turn in the lights. Steven dug a pointed finger in his side. "If you'd knock it off, maybe I'd calm down a bit."

Mikael smirked, eying Steven while sticking a finger in his mouth and sucking on it, pretending to casually pick something from between his teeth. He smirked as Steven hissed. With a pop he released his finger, lone eyebrow raised to match his smirk. "We have been invited to the after party." He paused, sucking in his lower lip and releasing it with a shiny layer of spit. "If you are willing."

Steven watched every flicker of emotion, every slight pull of a facial muscle. Mikael enjoyed this teasing far more than he let on. Steven ran a hand through his hair again, flipping it. "Yeah, why not?"

Mikael could only smile. Steven was off his game and it showed. "Good, I will send you directions when I get them."

"You're not riding with me?" People flowed around them, paying little attention. Steven searched his eyes for something.

"No, I have my own car." Steven pouted slightly, just a slight frown and a crease between his eyebrows. "But I'll see you there."

Steven was being waived over for more photos. Mikael walked back to the bar and sided up next to Hackett. "How's it going?" Steve asked.

Mikael clamped a large hand over Hackett's shoulder. "It goes well, my friend."


	3. Bars and Cars

Many beverages later, Mikael found himself outside the bar, its red walls vibrant against the beige and dark green stone of it's neighbours. Even through his sunglasses and flyers stuck all over the dirty windows he could see the paint peeling from the ceiling. Someone grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. It was crowded already, evidently struggling with the small crowd. A beer was placed in his hand. He looked around at the clusters of people. Another sausage festival. He smiled and took a sip, waiting for the room to spin a little slower. Various hairstyles, all in silver, made it easy to find anyone his own age. A natural blonde among them would stand out like a sore thumb.

Hackett found him before Steven showed up and Mikael allowed himself to be pulled into the easy conversation. The drinks kept being handed to him and he forgot he was trying to keep count. What good was an after party without being wasted anyway? He could feel the comforting numbness washing through his belly. Steve kept talking and he kept replying on auto-pilot, unable to really hear what was being said over the din of the half-deaf musicians.

He kept nervously glancing towards the door, expecting Steven to be carried in on a litter like the deity the media made him out to be.

"And that's when I told him," Steve kicked his foot as he twisted on the bar stool. "You can track over my parts, but I get the Meccano bits out from the attic." He chuckled as Mikael continued to frown at the door. "He's coming, just give him time." Mikael wrenched his sight from the empty door and stared at his beer. "Why don't you try mingling for a bit? Find someone new to talk to. Might lift your spirits."

"Sometimes I think it is all a waste of fucking time." This caused Steve to set his beer back down and pull his chair closer to Mikael. "It is a fucking game to him. I have a wife, you know."

"Aah, cheers to you." He clinked their glasses together. "I just got rid of mine."

"Still…" Mikael never talked much about real things. He could go on forever about niche things like the obscure black death metal he grew up on or obscure vinyl releases, but as for personal things he wasn’t a sharer.

Steve frowned. "Not enough, is it?"

Mikael stared at his beer, the sweating glass cold between his hands. "No," he finally admitted, but would never be able to explain it to anyone else.

"That’s what sucks about being an artist, my friend." Steve returned to his own beer and let Mikael sit in companionable silence. Crowded noisy bars were not the place for in depth psychological discussions. Part of the problems with the prog rock scene was that only half of the deafness was real, the other half was selective hearing and if there was some juicy tidbit of rumor to be had they’d be all over it.

Time passed and Mikael started to feel tipsy on his stool. The sadness at Steven non-presence seemed endless, so he drank more which only made the emptiness worse and the cycle rolled on. He sent a bunch of texts he would regret in the morning, leaning against Steve's shoulder as more crowd packed into the incredibly small bar.

Steven pushed through the crowd, seeing Mikael bent over his beer. The human laundry wringer cut the slight chill in the September air and the body heat alone was enough to keep the pub warm despite the open door and the night breeze. With his head down, Steven managed to get behind Mikael, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. Mikael dropped his phone on the table and turned, a smile breaking over his face at Steven's familiar features.

"I think I just agreed to re-master the entire Yes catalogue," he had to almost yell at Mikael to be heard. Without thinking Mikael wound an arm around Steven's waist, finding the warmth between jacket and tshirt. To Mikael, he looked tired and peaked; the award shows were always difficult on Steven with his much more introvert personality.

"It is good that you made it before you fell asleep, old man."

Steven relaxed slightly into Mikael's protective grip. "I'm kinda tired."

Steve sat watching the two men shout into each others ears, a knowing smirk on his face. If body language could talk they'd be in bed by now.

"Do you need your nappy changed before bed?"

Steven lightly cuffed Mikael upside the head. "I'm old, not an invalid."

Mikael pulled Steven closer, bending him around the bar stool. "Because I want to get in your pants before you pass out."

The breath caught in Steven's chest and he stiffened, fake smile plastered on his face to cover the sudden rush of desire. "Waiter! Check!" Steven held up a finger and laughed, a few heads turning to look at their small table.

"You want a drink?" Hackett envied their easy friendship and closeness and appreciated it from a distance, but knew when it was time to bow out.

Mikael pointed to Steven and nodded, not breaking the hold he had on Steven's belt loop. With Steve gone, and Steven still oddly pliable tonight, he could continue on his little game of winding Steven up. "I almost took Steve up on the offer to visit his house." Steven raised his eyebrows over the rim of those damned glasses and tilted his head slightly. "But I did not know if you wished to join us."

Steven's eyes widened slightly. Surely Mikael hadn't meant... "You don't, you know...?"

Mikael only shrugged. "I think you would look good under him."

Steven considered this image for a moment, then raised a corner of his lip. "Not as good as you would."

"Oh yeah?" Mikael shot back, holding Steven tighter. "What would you be doing?"

Steven leaned into Mikael's ear. “I'd have my cock down your throat, pulling your hair as you suck me off.” Mikael's eyes glazed over as Steven's tongue poked at the curve of his ear.

"You have that every time."

"Not often enough," Steven said with a purr, meeting Steve and collecting several Carlings. Mikael fidgeted in his chair, already anxious to get out of the pub and end up someplace at least semi-private. "Thanks, Steve." The small table was already covered in empty mugs and bottles but room was made for more.

Steve called cheers and they drank in silence, feeling each other out. Mikael's broad hand wandered over the cotton covering the small of Steven's back.

“You're welcome,” said Steve, looking longingly at the obvious couple. It was good not to be so jaded for a few hours, and a slight warmth trickled back into his heart. He looked at the death grip Mikael had on Steven's waist, and the untouched beers before them. “Well, I feel like a third wheel.” He used a napkin to mop up the wet ring left on the wood. “See you gentlemen later, and try to keep a low profile.” He winked and was gone, bouncing like a pinball through the crowd.

“What was that about?” asked Mikael, jostling for space and the crowd ate up the void left by Steve.

“He means no fucking on the table.” Knowing how Mikael's mind worked, he hastily added, “Or the bar, or the doorway.”

“Aah,” Mikael rubbed at Steven's stomach, teasing up his shirt by centimeters. “So the High Street and car are both ok?”

Fingers ran over a newly bared strip of flesh. “Keep it up and it will be here on the table.”

Mikael only rubbed firmer. “And you would like it.”

“That's besides the point.”

“No, that is my point.” Mikael leaned close to Steven's ear again. “I could slide under this table and suck you off and no one would even know.”

“I would know,” Steven raised a logical argument, just to infuriate Mikael.

“Yes, and would I. No one else here would know.”

“But what is the point of that?” Steven had to keep Mikael talking longer, anything to keep them from running to the bathroom and locking away in a stall. “Wouldn't you want him,” Steven picked someone's back from the crowd and pointed, “to know how fucking good your lips feel or how tight your throat is?”

“Mmm, no.” Mikael finally sipped at his beer, wetting his dry throat. “That is a secret for only you to know. It is yours and it is special.”

“You can't waste talent like that. It would be like recording your own 'Dark Side' and not putting it out because it's too good.”

Mikael shook his head slowly, letting Steven's tshirt fall back where he had lifted it up. “No, I am not Jane Goody or Lady Gaga. I do not do what I do for public attention.” Mikael looked around the room at all the small groups of people clustered around each other. “Nor do you, that is why we are here and not in The Sun.”

“I bet you a hundred quid that if I fucked you out on the street, we would make the front page.” Steven made for his wallet and pulled out several bills, setting them on the table.

Mikael eyed the notes, the muted blues and purple almost grey in the dim light. He then looked at Steven, and back to the money. “You think I am that cheap?”

Steven dug around his pocket and pulled out a small fistful of coins, dropping them on the bill and letting them roll around.

Mikael let go of Steven's waist. “Well, that's my lucky number.” He reached for his belt and moved to unfasten it, laughing as Steven tried to stop him.

“Stop, stop, Mikael, not here!” His hands batted at Mikael's, who had no intention of really removing his clothing this early.

Mikael suppressed laughs and let Steven pull his hands away, sitting back up in his chair. “But, it was the,” he quickly counted the coins in his head, “The two euro and fifty that got me horny.”

“You were horny before, you sot.”

“Yes.” Mikael let his eyes slip over Steven's form with heavy lids, hoping his gaze was interpreted as sexy instead of exhausted. “I am getting tired of being teased.”

Steven finally drank from his beer, taking extra care to pucker his lips on the rounded lip of the bottle. “Four months is a long time.” Steven had counted back to their last time together, during some promo work for Storm Corrosion. It had been hurried and frantic, nothing like the leisurely days spent together while making the album.

Mikael didn't say anything, lost in his own memories of days spent wandering through English fields and nights spent in a darkened studio separated by a rickety couch and visions of songs only they could put down on disk.

Steven tucked his hair back behind his ears again, nervously pulling on the fine strands. “Want to go back to my place?” he asked suddenly. He had a need to bring Mikael home, where they were both comfortable and had memories, instead of some generic hotel room that would be gone with tomorrow's check out time.

Mikael thought hard. He could still take Steve up on his offer and crash somewhere nearby, or return to the hotel room he'd rented for the week. He hadn't checked in yet, and already knew what it felt like in another sterile bland rented room. Steve seemed to have disappeared, and despite the bravado, he really didn't want to share. “Yeah. Ok.” It would be more of a drive, but to sleep in a familiar bed with the smell of Steven all around him would be a welcome comfort.

Mikael remembered something about the house he never had closure on. “Did that house next to yours ever go up for sale?”

“Oh, no,” Steven frowned. “The estate sold it to one of the grandchildren, so it never got to the public to purchase.” They had talked about it for months, Mikael moving conveniently next door into the old Wetherby house. “Sorry.”

Mikael only pursed his lips. It would not have been a good idea to uproot his family to live next to his boyfriend, not with their tempers. “It is ok, probably would have gotten sick of me being that close.”

“Nah.” Steven almost said, 'You're only borrowed,' but bit it back with a hard swallow. He changed the subject. “If we're going to get there before sun up we'd better head out.”

Mikael upended his beer and chugged the bottle down. After a manly belch, he looked Steven in the eye. “You are driving.”

“Of course,” Steven said sourly, the last beer mostly untouched. “You get a rental?”

“No, taxi.” For once Mikael was happy that he didn't have a car. He had a plan for the long trip back to Steven's, and it wouldn't work if they were in separate cars.

“Oh, good.” Steven readjusted his clothes, smoothing out his shirt and straightening his jacket. “Ready?”

“Yeah, I just want to tell Hackett good night.” Mikael got a quick hug from his new friend and was stopped by several other people in his attempt to escape. He still fared better than Steven, who he heard get no less than five propositions for remastering and production jobs. He waived them all away and fought his way to the door, eyes on Mikael who was standing just outside the door in the crisp night air.

“Bugger. I couldn't get a job as a kid, now there's too many.”

Mikael pulled out a lighter, taking a quick hit off his pipe to warm him up. “They just want to see you bend over the console.” Mikael let out the smoke and pocketed his gear from any prying police eyes. “That is why I would hire you.”

“Glad to really know what you think of my work. I think I'll give Opeth a pass and work on the next One Direction album.”

“I would rather cut my dick off.” Steven started leading him to where his car was parked, a small lot not far from the pub.

“People sometimes tell me I should get it permanently attached.”

“Hmmm?” Mikael didn't catch what Steven had said. It didn't make sense.

“Nevermind, old song lyrics from back in your Viking days.” He led Mikael through the gates and up into the garage, finding his car in the emptying lot and climbing inside. They fell into comfortable silence as Steven drove them through the still busy London night and onto the motorway, watching the passing cars as the traffic gradually faded and the city gave way to suburbs.

Mikael watched the traffic thin out and took one last glance at Steven, who was still focused on driving. Nimble fingers slowly slid the zipper down on his jeans; in the total silence of the car it sounded much louder than it actually was. He saw Steven's eyes dart to the side quickly before returning to the motorway with a slight frown. Mikael popped the button and slid his hand into his pants, curling around his soft cock. He pulled it out from it's denim trap and slid down lower in the leather seat, starting to stroke firmly.

Steven finally took his eyes off the road, quickly looking at Mikael's hand moving over his hardening erection. The car swerved dangerously. "Mikael, what are you doing?"

"I can't wait to get you home," he answered honestly, leaving out the parts about wanting to tease Steven and make him do something outside of his comfort zone.

Steven gripped the steering wheel hard, feeling himself harden as well. "Put it away, someone might see."

Mikael teased his foreskin, loosening it and sliding it back. "There is no one out here."

"You can't just jerk off in my car."

Tightening his grip, Mikael let out a soft sigh. "Too late for that."

Mikael watched the signs, reading the towns and miles, and occasionally looking over to Steven's profile. The dash light reflected from his glasses, lighting up his skin in an eerie shade of green. Steven searched for another excuse, already taking in faster, shallower breaths. "Shit." He shifted in his seat, already uncomfortable. "Can't you wait?"

"No." Steven grit his teeth and focused on the road, ignoring the rush of blood to his neglected cock and the tightness of his jeans. He didn't want to look over and see Mikael, didn't want to hear the hiss of skin sliding on skin as Mikael worked himself.

Mikael couldn't tear his eyes away from Steven, greedily taking in every bite of his lips and flare of his nose. Steven would let go of the steering wheel long enough to push his hair behind his ears, only to have it flop back moments later. Mikael reached out and grabbed Steven's left hand, pulling it from the wheel and pulling it over to his cock, pushing it into his erection.

Steven tried to pull his hand back to the wheel but Mikael held firm, the warm flesh good against his dick. New fingers slowly wrapped around his length, the car weaving back and forth with each slow stroke. “Ohhhh, that feels good,” Mikael groaned. His hands fell to the side of his hips and as soon as he let go, Steven pulled his hand back to the steering wheel.

“I'm gonna get arrested driving like that.” Mikael took himself back in hand. Steven's voice shook and Mikael knew he'd gotten to him. It was time to make Steven really hot and bothered.

“I will just take care of this myself.” Mikael started working himself in earnest, making extra breathy noises and small moans he knew would drive Steven mad. He made a show of licking his palm and continuing to stroke himself, long slow strokes that he knew Steven could see while driving.

The smell of Steven gave rise to many memories and a lot of excellent wanking material. Steven sitting quietly on a sofa, bare feet curling into the rug. Watching him pad across the room with cups of hot tea, the raggedy boxers barely clinging to his hipbones. Sleeping peacefully in that ancient wooden monstrosity he called a bed. A smile by candlelight over a shared Pot Noodle on a night neither one of them felt like cooking or leaving the house for take away.

And then there were the really good memories Mikael didn't think about enough. Those were the ones that left him sated but lonely and he tried to avoid them as much as possible. Except this time he wasn't going to be lonely. At least for tonight things would be ok and he could remember some of the better things that happened over the years.

"Aaaahhhhh..." he sighed, sinking further into the seat and knowing that Steven was trying desperately to watch. "Remember, in Stockholm, the vocal booth..."

Steven swallowed again, pulling at the neck of his shirt for some air. "You were really hanging on to that mic stand."

Mikael remembered hands everywhere, a tongue, soft whispers in the darkened booth off the main live room. "My legs were not working."

"The rest of you was."

"I was being encouraged to perform."

"Sleeping with the boss again, I know the type."

Mikael smiled and circled the head of his cock with the pad of his finger, enjoying the verbal sparring. "It is a proven vocal technique. Ask Paul Rothchild."

"You are not Jim Morrison, and do not need that assistance vocally." The strain was starting to show in Steven's voice. He would have to pull the car over soon.

"Aaah, yes, but it was fun making sure." Mikael was tired of his game, tired of jerking off with Steven sitting right next to him. His hand crept over the center console and landed on Steven's thigh, crawling across the black denim to the distended area. Steven jumped at the sudden touch, almost sending the car through the median. He gasped and jumped, grabbing the wheel and steering the car through another roundabout.

"Stop it. I'm driving."

Mikael's hands were already pulling at the zipper, having popped the button easily. His hand slid beneath the waistband of Steven's pants, feeling through wiry hairs to claim his prize. "I thought you would want a blow job before we got back."

Mikael was stroking the already hard flesh, making sure there would be enough room to fit his head between Steven's stomach and the steering wheel.

"I... what?" Steven forgot what he was going to ask, shifting his hips and spreading his legs as Mikael touched him. With a mighty slide, Mikael leaned across the armrests and pushed his face into the tight area. He fit, and his tongue captured Steven's cock, pulling it between his wet lips. "Holy fuck..." The car shimmied again as Steven moved his hands on the steering wheel, one hand cupping the back of Mikael's head as he started moving up and down. Steven did what he could to hold back Mikael's hair. "I still can't listen to that bit in 'Famine' without popping a stiffy."

Mikael laughed around the cock in his mouth. Leave it to Steven to phrase things so childishly. Steven pulled onto a narrow, dark street, nearing his house and speeding as much as he dared. He was fighting to keep his vision from crossing at what Mikael was doing, choosing to drive down the middle road of the three in his vision. He quickly switched on the defroster - the windows were already becoming steamed from all of the recent heat inside and the chilly night air outside.

He sucked in a quick breath as Mikael accidentally scraped him with teeth, the slight pain not pleasant but not hurtful either. "Watch the bumps in the road." His own voice felt thick to his ears, no doubt to get worse in the very near future.

Steven ran through a few stop signs, speeding as Mikael's pace increased. There would be no one out this late into the night and he recklessly pulled into his carpark, finally putting the car in park and leaning back, letting Mikael's less public talents take center stage for a while.

"Fuck, you're good." Steven finally let his head drop back against the head rest, using both of his hands to pull Mikael's hair back and hold it. Mikael kept his fast and steady pace, pulling Steven forward into release. "You're gonna make me come." His answer came in the form of a particularly strong suck. He let out a breath as his eyes fell shut, relaxing and letting Mikael do as he wanted. He trailed a hand down Mikael's back, pulling at the skin under the jacket and shirt, digging in as he felt his climax nearing. "Don't stop," he whispered, feeling himself start to pull up and contract. With a hitch in his breathing, and a push on Mikael's long back, Steven sent his seed into Mikael's warm mouth.

Mikael pulled away and sat up as Steven caught his breath, the fatigue from the long day already setting in. "Thanks," he said sleepily. "I think I needed that."

Mikael licked his lips. "I know you needed that." He knew Steven would need his alone time to recharge his batteries, but he wanted to be there for as much of it as he could. Steven stifled a yawn as he shut off the car, the warm air suddenly dying. "Ready for bed?"

"Yeah," Steven murmured, looking around for all tonight's effluvia. House keys, cell phone, car fob, charger, scraps of paper that fell out of his wallet, cigarettes, everything was shoved into a pocket somewhere before he opened the door.

"I hope you changed the sheets. I am not sleeping in your filth."

Steven smiled as Mikael rounded the car and they walked towards the house. "The bare floor is cozy if you're sensibilities are offended."

"Oh, never," Mikael scolded. "I know what a bachelor does in bed, and do not wish to lie in it."

Steven raised an amused eyebrow. "What if I don't let you get to the bed tonight?" He flipped through the keys on his ring, finding the one with the blue head, sliding it into the deadbolt.

"Is that a promise or a threat?" Mikael leaned against the side of the house, arms folded over his chest, waiting for Mikael to open the door.

Steven looked up into Mikael's eyes, dilated in the dim security lighting. "You'll just have to find out."

Entering the house, Mikael breathed in a big lungful of the comforting scent. It didn't really smell like anything, just Steven's house. Steven set his keys on the sideboard and immediately kicked off his shoes into the large pile by the door. No matter how clean his house was, there were always shoes stacked up by each of the doors. Mikael toed out of his as well without having to be asked, his phone and keys joining Steven's on the narrow table.

Steven wandered slowly into the rest of the house with Mikael trailing behind him. The dark beams and white walls were relaxing after the day of London's incessant noise and colour. He stood in a small room that held the staircase, debating whether he wanted to head straight up to bed or not. He turned to face Mikael, his feet squeaking on the waxed floorboards. Closing the short distance between them, Steven pulled Mikael into another hug, resting his head on Mikael's shoulder.

Mikael welcomed Steven into his arms, holding him close and feeling him breathe. Mikael had to force away what his body wanted, instantly responding to Steven's closeness. Steven seemed oblivious, nestled into the hollow of Mikael's neck and clinging on.

"Tired?" Mikael asked. Steven merely nodded, slow breaths warming Mikael's skin. "Up to bed with you." Steven didn't let go, instead letting Mikael pull him back towards the stairs. The plans for tonight would be delayed by a night and Mikael sighed in resignation. As much as he wanted, he could wait. Steven was in no shape to be his normal athletic self tonight.

Steven allowed himself to be helped up the stairs, leaning heavily on the larger man. For once he was enjoying the feelings of being protected instead of always having to be the one in control. It scared him to realize Mikael was the only person he was comfortable enough around to let that happen. Aviv, maybe. Tim probably. But he'd always gotten along with Mikael, since day one he was comfortable and had never questioned it.

"Do you want to watch a movie?" Slowly they made their way down the long hall, finding the master bedroom. Mikael set Steven down on the edge of the bed and started flipping through the piles of DVDs scattered on a bookcase.

"No, tired." Steven could have said yes, and fallen asleep half way through some bad horror movie again, sleeping on Mikael's shoulder. The mattress felt good underneath him and he flopped down across the bedspread, rolling until his head found a pillow.

Mikael set down a imported blue ray of some Japanese horror movie, looking at a sprawled out Steven. Quietly he reached out and removed Steven's glasses, setting them on the nightstand. Steven shuffled at the touch, burying himself deeper into the covers. "Ok, sunshine. Clothes off for bed." After waiting in vain for Steven to move, Mikael unfastened Steven's belt and pulled the jeans from his legs, rolling Steven and tucking him into the blankets. Steven was a much larger version of Mikael's daughters, snuffling and frowning as he was already starting to sleep. He watched the form under the blankets as Steven's breathing evened out and he fell asleep. There was an odd peace to his features, one of the few times Mikael hadn't seen that remarkable brain thinking. "Goodnight," he whispered, bending to kiss his forehead.

Mikael turned off the lights and shed his own clothes, crawling in beside Steven. His cock screamed for attention again, not understanding that Steven was asleep and incapable of helping. Unable to resist, Mikael reached out and touched Steven's hip, letting his fingertips slide underneath the covers up across the dip of his flank to the slight swell of ribs. His skin was so warm and soft, compelling Mikael to touch more and longer. Mikael shifted to spoon himself behind Steven, arm draping across his belly to hold him close. Steven fussed but settled back to sleep quickly as Mikael slowly rubbed at his belly. When he went up to pinch a nipple, Steven pushed Mikael's arm away and flopped onto his stomach.

Luckily for Mikael, this left Steven's small arse exposed. Unluckily, Steven started to snore. Faked or not, Mikael knew it was his sign to be left alone. Mikael turned out of the bed and headed for the small bathroom down the hall, knowing he wouldn't sleep at all if he didn't take care of his needs.

The light was bright in the small room, glaring off the large mirror and white surfaces. Mikael rested his hands on the vanity and looked at himself in the mirror. He remembered the last time he was at this sink, himself and Steven both hurriedly getting ready before rushing to the airport and back to reality. Steven had bent over to brush his teeth and Mikael had pounced, pinning his hips to the granite and leaning his chest against Steven's back. Their eyes met in the mirror and Steven nodded slightly, on the same wavelength without having to say anything. Flights be damned, they could reschedule or speed driving down. Staying another day from a missed flight wouldn't be the end of the world.

Mikael's hands slid down Steven's bare skin to the waistband of his jeans, both of them still shirtless in the early morning hours. Quickly jeans were shed and promises were whispered, Steven bracing himself on the sink as Mikael pushed inside. He hurried, time was short and Steven was tight. Mikael needed him one last time before he went back to Sweden and his 'normal' life.

Now Mikael placed his hands on either side of the faucet much like Steven had done and gazed into the mirror. It had looked so much better the last time he gazed into it, with the part of Steven's hair visible just above where the glass started. Occasionally Steven would throw his head back, sending that curtain of hair flying and leaving his strained and blotchy face exposed.

He had the presence to grab some toilet paper before getting started. He just needed to come so he could sleep without keeping Steven awake. The pot had worn off and the slight buzz from the beer was gone, leaving him lethargic and drained. It was just Mikael in the cold bathroom now, staring into the mirror but the memories heated him. Maybe in the morning he could drag a still sleepy Steven in here and bend him over the sink again. Mikael grabbed his cock at the thought, a groggy Steven still addled with sleep, pulled into the stark room and stripped of his pajamas, legs spread as he was bent over the sink. Mikael masturbated at the half memory, half fantasy. In his mind, he heard Steven's small grunts and saw those tapered fingers grasp at the smooth surface, trying to find purchase.

His hand tightened around his length; that was Steven clamping around him, fighting for control as he always did. Mikael loved it, loved the sparring and fighting. He would give Steven a quick slap on the rump, enjoying the ripple as Steven jerked under his hand. Then the filth would start, Steven's delicate lips letting loose with such vulgarity that a sailor would blush and turn away. Mikael sped his hand, knowing he wouldn't last long on this particular fantasy. He imagined the long lines of Steven's bare back, the curve where his hips ended and the bumps of his spine, branching out where the ribs grew and leading all up to pointed shoulder blades, hair brushing against the nape of his neck and swaying with each push back into Mikael.

Mikael grabbed the hunk of toilet tissue and closed his eyes, pushing himself to orgasm and leaning heavily against the vanity. A few deep breaths and he was able to open his eyes, cleaning up and tossing the soiled paper in the toilet. With a weariness seeping into his bones, he walked back to the bedroom and closed the door behind him. Steven was where he had left him, slightly snoring and dead to the world. He kicked his clothes under the bed and lifted the covers as gently as he could, sliding in next to Steven, letting a hand rub the warm skin of his shoulder before turning over and falling into darkness himself.


	4. The Batchelor Fridge

When he awoke the next morning, sunlight was already peeking through the heavy curtains. The bed beside him was empty and cold. Mikael swung his legs over the edge of the mattress, clutching his pounding head at the migraine that had formed overnight. It wasn't often they went out drinking, and Mikael's age was starting to get to him. He searched the nightstand for some paracetamol and found none. Pulling on his jeans and dirty shirt, he relegated himself to finding Steven and begging for some painkillers. Mikael rounded the ground level, finding Steven curled up on the sofa with a cup of tea and a blanket over his lap, some inane woman's day programme on the TV screen. He sat heavily on an ancient looking armchair, rubbing his face with his hands.

"I can't drink like I used to," he croaked out. His face felt doughy to his own fingers, and he knew he probably looked as good as he felt.

"Welcome to middle age, mate." Steven sipped at his tea, watching the younger man stew in his hangover. He looked so pathetic that Steven decided to give up his own comfort for a short bit. "You need some asprin?"

"Yes, please," Mikael all but cried. "My head feels like it's been karate chopped by an elephant."

Steven set his tea down and draped the small quilt over Mikael's shoulders. "Be right back." Mikael heard his footfalls leave the room. He reached out for the remote control, silencing the screeching voices coming form the TV. It was so much better when it was quiet.

Steven returned with his drugs and a steaming cup of tea. Without a word, Mikael swallowed the little white pills and washed it down with some hot tea, gagging with all the sugar and milk Steven had added to it.

"You alright?" Steven had started to head out of the room again and heard Mikael's noise of disgust.

Mikael managed to get the pills down, setting the evil tea on the coffee table. "What is in this?"

"Hemlock, why?" Mikael only glared at him from under a lock of hair. "Milk and two sugars, isn't that what you like?"

"No, that's not what I fucking like." Mikael's head was killing him, and he immediately regretting sniping at Steven. "Honey and lemon, ginger if you have it." It hurt to talk. "Please," he added as an apology.

After a minute he looked to see Steven gone. He didn't know if Steven had gotten mad and left or just went to look for tea supplies. Suddenly something soft was pushed against his shoulder. He cracked an eyelid to find a clean shirt and slippers held out to him. "You might want to shower first."

Mikael couldn't read him. "Do I smell bad?"

"No, but you look like hell." Mikael took the folded stack and pulled it into his lap. "It'll make you feel better until the paracetamol kicks in."

"Thanks." Mikael gathered the slippers and headed back upstairs to shower.

Steven was already heading back out to the kitchen. "I'll bring the tea up after it cooks."

"I will kiss you after I brush my teeth." Steven said something from the kitchen, but it was lost in the distance between them. "I will kiss you here, I will kiss you there." He chuckled to himself, the next line being 'I will kiss you everywhere'. He climbed into the familiar shower, washing away all the grit and smoke from last night.

Feeling slightly better, he dried himself and found his toothbrush, long hidden in a drawer. Deciding against the old pants, he pulled on his jeans and sniffed at his shirt, throwing it in the dirty pile in the corner and reaching for the one Steven had given him. Unfolding it, a small item fell to the floor. Mikael picked it up and held it at arms length. It was small, and tiger print, totally unlike Steven. Maybe there was an accident at the laundry or something. Pulling on the shirt, Mikael held the pants between two fingers and marched them down to Steven.

"Are these yours?"

Steven was back on the couch, two steaming teas in front of him and the quilt back over his legs. He turned to look and immediately spotted the tiger pants and looked at his own knees. "Yeah, well no, they're for you." Steven fidgeted, smoothing out the blanket.

Mikael held the pants out between both hands, holding them up to his hips. "You want me to wear these?" They barely stretched across his hip bones.

"I just thought you would need a pair."

Mikael stretched the fabric more, pulling it taught. "You did not have anything more basic?"

"I didn't want you to wear 'more basic'."

"Oh," was all Mikael could say. There was no way they would fit, but if Steven wanted it... He held them up to his waist again. "My enormous dick will not fit."

Steven raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure you'll be fine."

Mikael shrugged and went upstairs again to put them on. Kinky little man wanted it, kinky little man would get it. It was typical behaviour out of Wilson - push just enough boundaries to see what he could get away with. He knew Mikael was not easy to push around, so it made him more of a target. Mikael let him have the small victories, it was amusing to sit back and watch his mind work overtime while playing his little game.

The small underwear almost fit, and Mikael dragged his jeans back up over them before heading back downstairs. Steven looked him up and down with a blank face. "They are not comfortable." Mikael picked at the fabric currently wedged between his cheeks and pulled it out before sitting down next to Steven. "How do women wear these things?"

Steven only sipped his tea from the same mug he'd had all morning. Mikael reached out for his no-longer steaming cup and instantly regretted it as the panties wormed their way back into his crack.

"Movie?" Steven suggested.

A routine move on Steven's part; movies had just become their thing over the years. "Yeah, what do you have?"

"Nothing new," Steven frowned. They'd seen all the DVDs and BlueRays. "Nothing interesting."

"I am tired of watching Lorraine Kelly."

"Do you want me to turn it off?"

"No," Mikael answered quickly, fearing it would cause Steven to get up from the couch. "Is there anything else on?"

"No, not now." Steven looked at Mikael, thinking. "You hungry?"

The paracetamol and shower had done wonders for his stomach, and Mikael thought he could keep food down. He nodded. "Yes."

"Kitchen is that way," Steven pointed and fought a grin.

Mikael poked him in the ribs. "Asshole."

"I don't have much, but I can make a good bowl of Frosties."

Pondering the sheer amount of sugar and Steven's lack of culinary skill, Mikael's stomach rumbled. "No toast or ham?"

"Nope."

"Eggs and cheese?"

"Nope."

"Just Frosties?"

"Just Frosties." Steven slowly started to smile. "Why don't you follow me to the kitchen and I'll show you what I have for breakfast?"

Mikael missed the insinuation in Steven's tone. "Ok," he said, actually focusing on food. Steven's intentions were different. There would be food, and there would be some misuse of food if he had his way. Steven set the blanket on the back of the sofa but left the tv on, playing to an empty room.

He dug through the mostly empty fridge, searching for something that would work as a hangover breakfast. There was some small bits of cheese, no milk, and he didn't trust the eggs anymore. There was an old can of squirty cream in the back, it was a good place to start.

"You call this a refrigerator?" Mikael was directly behind him, looking over his shoulder. "There is nothing in here."

"Sorry we don't all have large families." Mikael started to reach for the cardboard carton of eggs. "I don't know about the eggs, they're kinda old."

Mikael sighed and set the carton down, still squeezing into the small door with Steven. "Bacon, peanut butter, biscuits, I have to eat something."

The single lightbulb glared in the small white box. "Here we go," Steven pulled the can of cream towards him. "Whipped cream."

"Steven, this is not breakfast."

"I thought if I put it on you it would be."

Mikael hissed and stood up quickly, suddenly noticing how close he was to Steven. He backed up slowly, hitting the small island and holding on with his hands. With the sudden room, Steven held the can and closed the door, shaking the cold squirty cream can and looking at Mikael predatorily. Mikael didn't like the look in Steven's eyes, the odd pliability from yesterday completely gone and his normal demanding self back in full force.

"Steven, I am really hungry."

"So am I." Steven stared at him, that damned can still in his hand. "We'll go out and get something later." He popped the cap off from the can. "Take your shirt off."

Watching him carefully, Mikael grabbed the hem of his shirt, slowly pulling it up over his head and letting it drop on the floor. He folded his arms over his chest protectively. Steven licked his lips and Mikael could already feel himself getting hard.

"Hands at your sides." Mikael grit his teeth but did what Steven wanted, slowly unfolding his arms and letting them fall to his sides. Steven sprayed a small amount of cream onto his finger and sniffed it, apparently deciding it was good, and licked it off his finger. "Tastes ok."

Steven pointed it at Mikael's chest and pushed the nozzle, sending a small stream of white onto Mikael's bare chest. "Fuck, that's cold." Mikael stifled a shiver and stood as still as he could.

"Hmm, I could tell." Steven's eyes flickered to Mikael's nipples as they tightened against the cold. Slowly, he drew a V shape from collarbone to breastbone and back up the other side. "I should dress you up as a superhero for the next album cover."

"I would like to be Thor." Steven's eyes flickered up from his thin chest to his face. "Or Spiderman." Steven only hummed, setting the can on the island behind Mikael. "I know who you would be."

This got Steven's attention again, and he met Mikael's eyes. "Captain Prog?"

Mikael only smiled, prepared for his punishment. "With a Capital P for Prick."

Steven smiled back, well aware of how Mikael asked for things. "And you said you liked my prick." He had to stand on his tip toes to meet Mikael's height and squinted when he had Mikael's attention. "You know what happens when you get lippy."

Mikael nodded, sucking his lower lip and biting it. His cock was already throbbing. Steven dropped back on his heels and ran a finger through the melting cream. He dipped his fingertip in his mouth, sucking off the cream and salt, using his tongue to wrap around and give Mikael a tease. He made a show of slowly lowering his lips to Mikael's chest, lapping up the cream with his tongue. Steven pushed some of the larger splatters around before pulling them in, letting his tongue travel across Mikael's entire chest, carefully avoiding the peaked nipples.

When Mikael's chest was clean and shiny with spit, Steven looked back to admire his work. Mikael had his eyes closed and hands clenched on the edge of the island. He looked almost reverent, face tipped up towards the ceiling and the lightest sheen of sweat beginning to form at his temples. He undid Mikael's jeans, reaching fingers under he band and pulling both tiger print pants and jeans down carefully. Steven lifted one of Mikael's feet at a time, sliding the garments over his feet and leaving them in front of the fridge.

"On the counter, near the edge. Lie on your back." The counter came up to just below Steven's belly button, too high for what he really wanted, but good for other things. Mikael hoisted himself up, swinging his long legs onto the granite. He shivered, half from the cold and half from the way Steven was looking at him.

"Mind if I have my breakfast first?"

"Not at all," Mikael closed his eyes, waiting to find out what Steven would do to him this time.

Bending over slightly, Steven ran his tongue over Mikael's shoulder. He laid a kiss on the smooth skin, dragging his lips down Mikael's arm, stopping at his elbow and moving over to his torso. Fingers traced ahead of his lips, covering every inch of pale skin and every freckle he could find. Slowly he ran down Mikael's flank, ghosting over the slight swell of his belly. Mikael immediately sucked in his gut, his chest rising as he held a breath.

"Relax," Steven breathed, the warm air making Mikael's cock jump. Steven rested his ear on Mikael's upper belly and blew a small stream of air towards the head of Mikael's cock. He smiled as it twitched, but moved on with his plans. Mikael's hip bone was attended to, skating down his side and to his thigh. Steven nipped here, the sparse hairs rough under his tongue. He let his fingers wander over Mikael's inner thigh, massaging where his mouth couldn't reach. Steven worked his way down to Mikael's knee, then came back up on the inside of a leg. Mikael was so tense underneath him and flinched every time Steven would get close to his genitals.

A section of hair hung loose and Steven dragged it across the head of Mikael's cock. Mikael thrust up, desperate for any contact. The hair parted, brushing down the sides of his shaft when Steven moved his head. "Like that?" Steven asked.

"Touch me," Mikael begged. He risked speaking, Steven not giving him permission. Touching himself was out of the question - Steven would never allow it.

Fingers ran over the tender flesh of his inner thigh, getting very close to where he wanted them, only to skate away again back to less sensitive areas.

Steven played him as he would a guitar, slowly building only to fall back again before finally hitting the chorus. Mikael pushed his hips up, desperate for attention and Steven could only chuckle. The man really had no self control. He drew a circle from inner thigh up and around to Mikael's belly button, pleasing himself with Mikael's barely constrained whine of frustration.

A really, truly torturous idea grew in his mind, better than coating Mikael in cream had ever been. He ran his hands up again, bending over to kiss below the arch of ribs, one hand reaching up to quickly tweak a nipple. "Don't move," he stepped back, watching Mikael breathe. "And no touching," he added for good measure. Mikael dropped his head to the granite, closing his eyes and exhaling loudly. Steven was half tempted to give up his plan and join Mikael on the counter, but with all of yesterday's teasing he needed a lesson.

Across the kitchen by the pantry was a small step stool, mostly used on the rare occasion he needed the large roasting pan his mother purchased. The stool was just a small thing, barely six inches high, but just enough for what he needed. Steven lifted the small aluminum step and carried it back to where Mikael was quietly waiting. He set it on the floor and then backed a few paces.

"Look at me, Mikael." Obediently, Mikael turned his head. The short time alone had cleared some of the fever from his gaze and calmed him. Keeping eye contact, Steven slowly unbuttoned his jeans and sent them to the floor, stepping out of them. "Hands above your head." This would only work if Mikael couldn't touch him. One touch and it would just end up a sticky, sated mess on the island and Mikael would have gotten his reinforcement for acting up and the cycle would repeat itself.

Not that Steven really minded that outcome, either.

As he stepped up on the stool Mikael watched every move. Steven held his own cock and stroked quickly, watching as Mikael licked his lips. Steven moved forward until his thighs met the cold of the granite. Mikael's hip was just in front of him, the warmth radiating like an oven. Holding himself by the base of his cock, Steven pushed his hips forward and smacked Mikael with it. He teased Mikael and himself, rubbing the underside along Mikael's hip and thrusting against him.

"Mmmm, this feels good." Steven pleasured himself against Mikael, ignoring Mikael's arousal. He moved further up, tapping his cock against Mikael's chest and rubbing as he felt Mikael's breathing become erratic.

"Let me touch you," Mikael croaked out. "Please," he added, half remembering to play his part.

"No, you teased me yesterday, now I will tease you." Steve was high enough that he made sure he was in Mikael's line of sight. He ran a finger around the head of his cock. "It feels so good, right there." He rubbed over the sensitive spot on the bottom and Mikael keened. He stroked himself from base to tip, Mikael's eyes watching each movement of his hand. "Do you want me to touch you?"

Mikael only nodded, twining his fingers together above his head. Steven slid one hand down Mikael's belly, carefully avoiding Mikael's cock. Every time he would get near it, Mikael would tense and his cock would jump. Steven just traced around it, teasing and punishing. Mikael would have to beg first.

"Please, Steven, touch me!"

Steven tried not to laugh. It was so easy to read Mikael, every thought or feeling crossing his face and never being able to hide any of it. "No, I don't think so," was his reply, grinning into his shoulder at Mikael's pained groan. Steven moved his hands back south again, tracing over Mikael's hip bones before rubbing his cock against Mikael's flesh. The leg started to move against him as Mikael rocked against whatever friction he could find. His fingers were still laced together above his head, coming down to pull at his own hair in frustration.

"Touch me!" Steven glided his hands over all the pale skin again, teasing Mikael's inner thighs and coming within inches of his balls. Mikael's hips thrust up into the air, meeting nothing and falling back to the granite. "Please, I beg." While Mikael was distracted, Steven quickly reached out and grabbed the cold can of squirty cream, quickly spraying some onto Mikael's cock.

Mikael inhaled loudly then sighed as the cold bit into the heat of his erection. Steven looked up to find his teeth clenched together, neck stretched as the sensations wound through him. "Fucking... Asshole..." Mikael said through gritted teeth. His hands grappled above his head, searching for something to hold on to and finding only flat stone and hair. Mikael drew one leg up, parting his thighs in an attempt to relive some of the pressure. It had the added benefit of giving Steven a better view.

"Asshole, yes. Fucking, maybe." The cream had started to melt on Mikael's hot skin and it ran in small rivulets into the wiry hair and down between his legs. "You're making a mess of my kitchen."

"If you would lick it up it would not be so messy."

"You would enjoy it too much." Steven lightly ran a finger through the remaining cream, not enough to touch Mikael's skin, but just enough to move some of the firmer cream around.

"You would enjoy it also."

Steven pondered the thought, letting his index finger ever so lightly touch Mikael's cock. "I would," he admitted. With a last light touch to Mikael, Steven wrapped his fingers around himself, giving a quick squeeze before stroking. He rubbed the head of his cock against Mikael's skin with every movement. "But I enjoy this more."

Mikael strained to watch, unable to sit up or lift his head much. His fists clenched again as his legs tensed. "Touch me," he growled.

"I am," Steven answered, wiping away some precome on Mikael's hip, leaving a glossy trail.

Mikael's arm twitched; he was fighting not to touch himself. "Asshole."

"You love me anyway."

Mikael wormed his hip against Steven's thrusts. "I would love you more with your lips around my cock."

Steven sighed. "I've told you why you're like this. For that outburst, I'm certainly not going to suck you off now." Mikael whined again and closed his eyes. "In fact, I might just jerk off right here." Steven pulled himself back slightly, just enough so he wouldn't touch Mikael but still close enough that Mikael could feel the air move. He stroked faster, tired of the teasing despite his words.

"Fuck, Steven, my balls hurt."

He was ignored, Steven instead let his eyes feast on the man laid out before him. Every stroke brought him closer to coming and the way Mikael was squirming and grimacing and almost begging pulled on what little restraint he had left. Mikael's hands were still above his head, leaving the dark hair of his armpits exposed. It was Steven's thing, the slight indent and curve of tendons, little clumps of flaky white left from the deodorant. And the smell. Something in Mikael's armpits made his head swim every time, getting caught in his sinuses and spinning him out of control.

Steven pointed himself at Mikael's armpit and pulled himself off with a few quick strokes. New strings of pearly white joined the deodorant. Steven pushed the mess around with the head of his cock, rubbing the liquids into Mikael's hair.

"You came on my armpit. Again." Mikael lifted his head to look at his arm. "That is fucked up."

Steven didn't say anything, catching his breath and coming down from his high. He was leaning over Mikel, one hand on the edge of the island, the other still around his dick. Mikael slid further onto the counter, almost in the middle of the massive slab of granite. It was cold again underneath him. He gently pulled Steven up with him, getting him to sit on his belly. Mikael used his long legs to prop Steven up. The weight on his pelvis felt good. Steven was sated and slow, but warm and heavy and all his. He wrapped his arms around Steven, pulling him down into a comforting hug as Steven came back.

"God morgen," Mikael said when Steven finally opened his eyes. "Better?"

"Ya." Steven nestled in the crook of Mikael's neck, those stupid glasses pushing into his shoulder. Mikael wasn't sure if he'd said 'ja' or some lazy English word. All his attempts to teach him even the most basic of Swedish fell on deaf ears and English was all they ever used together. Mikael lifted his hips slightly, rubbing his erection against Steven's bottom. Steven lifted his head slightly, mussed hair falling in every direction.

"I could still use some help." Mikael wiggled his hips again, pushing his cock against Steven's warm weight again. Steven dropped his mouth to Mikael's, kissing him and pushing his tongue inside Mikael's mouth.

"Want me to suck you?" Steven asked after the kiss broke. Mikael shook his head and grabbed Steven's hips, trying to pull him to his cock. Mikael shook his head, suddenly no longer trusting his English. "You want my ass?"

Mikael nodded this time. "Vänligen," he huffed, still trying to push Steven further south. Steven rested his hands near each of Mikael's shoulders, pushing himself up for leverage.

"You want your cock in my tight ass, and to pound into me until you come?" Steven slid lower on Mikael's abdomen, forcing his ass into Mikael's pelvis. Mikael's cock caught the split between Steven's cheeks and rose between it, bending up as Steven forced himself back. "You want to fuck me so good that I scream your name and get you off?" Steven was moving now, back and forth, rubbing his ass against Mikael's erection. Mikael had a death grip on his hips, helping him slide back and forth. Steven lowered himself onto his forearm, chest rubbing against chest. "Want to come inside me?"

Mikael was close, just from Steven's words and rubbing against his ass. Each breath came in a short pant, his hands pushing and pulling at Steven, making him go faster. "Gonna come," he hissed, feeling himself on the brink. Steven leaned over and grabbed the forgotten bottle of squirty cream, quickly reaching his hand between them and spraying some on Mikael's cock. With one hand he held Mikael firmly, sinking himself down on the hardened flesh, not surprised when Mikael howled and spasmed halfway in, pulsing with each release.

Steven lowered himself to Mikael's chest again, letting him catch his breath and wake up. Hands slowly started to move over the back of his tshirt, holding him close. "Better?" Steven whispered.

Mikael only hummed, slowly stretching and getting comfortable. "I have died and gone to heaven."

Steven chuckled, enjoying the warmth of Mikael's skin. "Nope, still Hemel Hempstead, sadly."

"And does Hemel Hempstead have a restaurant?"

"It does." Steven knew he would have to move soon, but was enjoying where he was too much at the moment.

Mikael shifted under him again. "What's that one restaurant we went to last time?"

"The kebab place?"

"No, the sandwich place."

"I don't want a sandwich."

"How about Chinese?" Mikael asked.

Steven countered. "How about KFC?"

Mikael shuddered in horror. "I do not even care now. I need to eat."

"Piggies sandwiches then?"

"Only if we can get those little cakes again."

Steven started to get up, no easy way to roll off Mikael and get down from the counter. "Or we can stop at the Rose and Crown, and then Fretz on the way back."

Mikael sat up and started looking for his clothes. He didn't bother with anything tiger print, causing Steven to briefly raise an eyebrow. He was going to stick to his jeans with all that melted cream. "Is that the place with the roast?"

"Yeah, and the free veg."

Mikael hurriedly pulled on his shirt. "Get in the car, I am starving."


	5. Lunch Out and A Boat With a View

They walked down the High Street, two old friends out for a lunch. Mikael had to keep reminding himself it was not a date. Steven didn't do dates. There always seemed to be someone here who recognized Steven, not for the same reasons he was recognized last night but still he was noticed. British people seemed to be a lot more intrusive generally than Swedes were. For once no one recognized him, which was an unexpected perk. They ordered at the bar and took their drinks outside in the garden, soaking up the last of the late summer warmth before the winter chill came again.

Mikael had found a jumper somewhere but Steven was only wearing the same Frank Zappa tshirt he had been wearing. They sat on some padded chairs, both mobile phones set on a small table and ignored.

"Are you cold?"

Steven sipped on his beer. "Nah, I'm good."

"I know you are good, but..." Mikael looked up at the sky, the few clouds an ominous shade of grey. "Do you not ever have sun here?"

Steven looked at him, the slight squint of his eyes lost behind the dark sunglasses. "At least it doesn't snow much."

"The snow is not so bad. You get used to it." Mikael remembered the first time Steven had come to Stockholm in the winter to help with a track. They'd had a storm the night before - most of it had already been cleaned up but large piles and banks of snow were still on every corner. "Why don't you move some place like California or South of France?"

"I like it here, you know. It's home." Steven set his beer on the table and crossed his hands over his belly. "I like having my mum just down the road.

"Did you sell the house in Israel?" Mikael had a death grip on his pint. Aviv had always been a sore subject between them, Mikael irrationally jealous and Steven doing his best to ignore it.

"It's on the market, don't worry, I'm not going back." Steven spied their barkeep bringing out a small plate of food. Steven pushed his hair back behind his ears again, the wind whipping it around. The waitress smiled and set the tray on the table, two forks tucked into the food. She smiled before turning and heading back into the pub.

"She know you?" Mikael crushed his cigarette under his trainer and grabbed a fork.

Steven grabbed a fork and pulled a small pile of tomatoes to his side of the bowl. "Yeah, I think we went to school together." He shrugged.

"I think she likes you."

"She was smiling at us, idiot."

Mikael crunched on his toasted bread. "That is her job, she is nice to everyone."

"Every time I come here it's with you. That was not a happy smile, it's how Brits say 'fuck you' in public."

Mikael made a dismissive noise around his food, catching some crumbs in his mustache. "Eat, please." Steven continued to pick at the food. "What does she care anyway?"

"There was one gay kid in our school. Jason, I think his name was. Very flashy." Steven flopped his wrists around in a very politically incorrect way. "Anyway, they ran him out of town pretty much. Not very open mined here."

Mikael scratched at his chin hair. "No one minds in London."

Steven finished chewing on his tomatoes. "That's London. It's an hour away, farther than most of these people will get in their lifetime. They might make it to Milton Keynes or Watford, thinking they've made it in the world."

"That is sad." Mikael set his fork down, disappointed at the lack of cheese.

It was Steven's turn to make a noise. "I think he ended up moving south and getting into IT or something. Dunno."

"Should we not come here anymore?" Mikael tried to look around the small garden without making it look like he was people watching.

"No, it's fine." Steven took a bit of bread and munched on it. Mikael fell silent, watching the crowd from behind his sunglasses, lost in thought. They both picked at the small plate, waiting for their order to come out of the kitchen.

Steven caught sight of the waitress first, sitting up straighter and pushing the plate away.

"I want you to break up with Aviv." The poor waitress stopped at the table, plates still in her hand, overhearing Mikael's statement.

Steven had to glare at him and his poor timing. "I'm not breaking up with him," he said shortly. "I'm still with Blackfield."

"You need to be with me more." Mikael moved his beer as the waitress awkwardly set down their plates.

"Enjoy your meal," she edged out before practically running back inside.

"Why do you do that?" Steven wasn't in the mood to eat anymore, but realized he couldn't just leave Mikael in town with no ride back. Mikael could probably walk the three miles, but he would get lost long before crossing the canal. Perhaps it was just a misunderstanding about what those words in that order meant to a native English speaker.

Mikael was already digging into his broccoli. "I like to watch you squirm." There was steam coming off his roast and suddenly Steven felt his hunger return. "And I want you to stop playing with him."

The fork tore through his pile of beef. "I have some commitments left, then I'll be done."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Steven felt like making him squirm back. "I want you to leave your wife and kids."

Mikael stopped with a forkful of beef halfway to his mouth. Steven only stared at him with a blank expression. The food fell back onto Mikael's plate. "You are joking." Steven said nothing, continuing to look at Mikael with his well practiced neutral expression. Mikael turned back to his food, letting a few moments pass without speaking. "Are you serious?"

"What if I am?" Steven was interested in his reaction, or non-reaction. Was he seriously considering it or trying to politely talk his way out of it? Not that politeness had ever stopped Mikael before.

Mikael grabbed his pint and leaned back in his chair, staring deep into the foam. "Cunt." Steven let him stew on it, eventually turning his attention to the other patrons, watching them talk and eat happily. Mikael seemed to be put off his food. It was rapidly going cold and the juice from the roast was starting to pool in a corner of the plate. It didn't match the other happy pub guests and the spotty sunshine or their mood previously at the house. This had been a long time coming, and was bound to catch them sooner or later.

Finally looking up from his beer, Mikael looked like he was going to say something. "I was joking." It came out sounding a lot less sincere than Steven had wanted. He took a big drink of his own beer, food similarly untouched on the table.

"Good," said Mikael. "Because I was going to say okay." He couldn't lie, uncomfortable with the way his heart was pushing his brain.

Steven was really miserable now. He liked Mikael, but he liked being alone as well. It was just his way. "Emmm, how about going into Reading tomorrow to a record fair?" He tried to change the subject, knowing the prospect of vinyl would always derail any though that Mikael had.

Mikael perked up, as Steven knew he would. "Records?"

"Yeah, vinyl. Might be some good ones." Mikael had thousands already and was always looking for more.

"That is why I love you, even though you are a cunt."

"Thank you. I think." Steven scratched at his stubble and thought about eating his food. He poked at it, the vegetables mushy and roast cold. "Need another beer?"

"Yes." Mikael quickly downed the last of his pint, reaching into a pocket to fish out a cigarette. He watched as Steven walked into the pub with both glasses. He ran a hand through his hair, pulling it back. He didn't expect Steven to ask that of him and it threw him for a loop. Leave his kids, really? The man was certifiably insane. What was worse is that he actually considered it. He breathed a sigh of relief at Steven's intuitive subject change, although he could tell he wasn't one hundred percent joking as he had stated. Mikael felt his stomach knot up with the sudden stress, blowing out a lungful of smoke and watching as it drifted away in the wind. A familiar itch played in his brain. There was a song in this somewhere; he closed his eyes and tried to listen to it. Mikael was genuinely excited about tomorrow, but was worried of how things would go tonight now that Steven had said it. Somehow it wasn't real until he actually put the words out.

Steven took his own time inside the pub, wondering if he pushed things too far. Mikael was a bit more fragile these days than he had been in the past and Steven didn't want to be the person to push him into one of his self-punishment loops. He shouldn't have said what he said, but it was too late to take it back now. Laughing it off as a joke would hurt even more. He chastised himself for being so stupid as the bartender set the refilled pints in front of him. Her sneering smile was back. She was probably one of the ones that ran Jason out of town all those years ago. Steven smirked back, seeing how far that had gotten her in life. Working in a pub in the same town she was born in. Good for her, he thought. Steven had traveled the world and met some very interesting people, doing things one only read about in Sounds or Circus. Even the feeling of superiority couldn't buoy his spirits, the non-fight with Mikael weighing heavily on him.

Steven walked the beers out, finding that Mikael hadn't moved and was quietly smoking. It was a minor victory that Mikael hadn't run and gotten lost in one of the allotments or fields further out of town. He set the beverages on the table and stared at the fence, purposely avoiding the upcoming conversation.

"I have a song I want to record," he stopped dead, almost saying 'at home'. "At your house."

"Okay." Steven still wouldn't meet his eyes, unwilling to know what he would find there.

The beers were finished in what, for the first time, was an awkward silence. Mikael seemed to be humming to himself very quietly as Steven nervously flipped his hair. Both of them drank their pints a bit too fast, Mikael spreading his out with drags on his cigarette. The food was pushed away, neither one in the mood to eat. Steven finished first, setting his glass on the table. "Ready to go?"

Mikael nodded and chugged the rest of his lager. He sucked the last bit from his mustache, and Steven's eyes automatically flickered to the red lips and flash of tongue. Dishes were gathered and left on the bar, a few bills stuck under an empty glass. They walked out together, feeling the bartender's eyes on their backs.

Fretz was conveniently across the road, where they both darted inside, Steven instantly hovering near the packets of strings, leaving Mikael to browse through the guitars on the wall. He didn't see anything truly unique, used to the bigger stores of London and Stockholm. He pulled a Taylor from the wall, tuning it quickly and trying to get out what had been in his head. The shop was quiet for 2pm on a weekday, and the owner let Mikael to plan out some of the lines. It just kept going around, Mikael chasing the melody as it shifted.

Steven pulled a guitar as well, sitting on the floor at Mikael's feet. "Play that again." He stared at the strings as Mikael picked them, trying to copy the pattern after a few runs. Soon they were off like the argument had never happened, and like they weren't in the middle of the smallest guitar shop this side of the M1. When a few townsfolk started looking over their shoulders, they packed it in, hanging the guitars back up and paying for Steven's little orange packets of strings, Mikael tossing in a teal packet.

"Twelves?" Steven raised an eyebrow, pulling a bank card out of his wallet.

Mikael sniffed. "Some of us like a little more bottom."

"Some of us actually like to bend the strings."

The shop owner took Steven's card and ran it through. "You sound like an old married couple arguing like that."

Mikael and Steven looked at each other with stiff upper lips. "Haha, yeah," Steven finally blurted, taking back his card and receipt. Mikael grabbed the bag of strings without a word.

Outside in the narrow road Mikael kicked the curb. "Stupid, asshole, helvetes jävla skit..."

"What?" Steven stopped walking and was just watching Mikael abuse the concrete and swear up a storm in Swedish.

"That does not bother you?" Mikael was yelling, using all the force in his powerful lungs.

"What?" Steven was honestly confused. He'd been going to that shop for a good twenty years.

Mikael muttered under his breath and lit up a cigarette. "He called us an old married couple." Mikael sucked in a large lungful. "I am already married."

"Why does it bother you so much?" Steven tried to quickly decide which way to twist. "Am I that bad?" He watched Mikael's eyes for the things he would never tell.

Mikael looked from under heavy brows. "You..." he paused, frowning. "I..." He took another long drag on the cigarette, blowing out the smoke. "Jääävlarrrr!" he roared.

A few people started poking out of shop windows at the yelling. Mikael started walking to the car park quickly. Steven saw the townsfolk go back about their day, with the show over there was no point in watching any further. When he caught up with Mikael he was leaning against the car bonnet, still smoking and tossing ashes into the dirt.

"I do not have the keys." His long legs were crossed at the ankles and the white plastic bag still hung from his wrist.

They didn't speak on the short drive back to the house, down the long windy road that lead to the train tracks. Steven thought they would just go in and Mikael would hide, but instead, when walking the short distance to the door Mikael announced he wanted to go for a walk.

"Hold up, let me grab a jacket." While fine in the sun it was chilly in the shade and would get colder as the sun started to set. Mikael often walked by the canal for hours and the last thing Steven wanted was to catch cold. Mikael had already worked his way down the path when Steven finally caught up with him. He said nothing, barely acknowledging Steven's presence. Slowly Steven started to put the pieces together: their fight and the comment by the shop owner. Something about it bothered Mikael deeply but Steven couldn't figure out if it was he threat of being made public or the threat of losing his family. He shouldn't have pushed Mikael so far earlier. With his chilled hands in pockets he walked next to Mikael, keeping up with his long strides. They made it all the way past the rugby fields before Mikael looped around,walking along the trees at the base of the steep hill that lead to the the tram tracks.

Mikael spied the incline and shook his head. He walked under he train bridge, leaving Steven to follow behind him silently. There was a small cleared area just past the bridge that Mikael stopped in, sitting cross legged in the dirt and watching the ducks swim around the lily pads in the small lake. Except for the trains that went by every while and the constant bustle of the motorway beyond that, it was rather peaceful. Not many people had reason to follow the tiny dirt road that lead past Steven's house and out to the moored boats and brewery beyond.

Steven sat next to him, close but not touching. Mikael just started out at the water and Steven let him sort out his thoughts. Meanwhile his own thoughts were jumbled, worried about having pushed Mikael too far, too fast and possibly damaging their friendship. It was strong though, Jonas had foreseen it before they ever talked to each other. The ducks swam in little circles, preening their feathers and doing duck things as he waited for Mikael to decide what to do.

For his part, Mikael wanted to hide and lick his wounds. He couldn't tell Steven to leave him alone, he could never deny Steven anything really. He was still upset when he tagged along on the walk but it faded as the steady presence quietly sat next to him. No pressures and no nagging questions. Steven was just there and his timing was impeccable as always.

"Do you know what you do to people?"

Steven snapped out of his own thoughts at Mikael's soft words. He cocked his head slightly and stared at Mikael, not understanding him.

"Do you know why people follow you? Why everyone wants a piece of you?"

Steven drew his legs up and hugged them. He didn't like the sound of this. "My ravishing good looks and superior musical abilities?"

Mikael smiled sadly and shook his head. "Those are reasons." He looked out at the ducks. "They want to own you, possess you and keep you for themselves."

"Like a trophy?" Steven wished he could steal one of Mikael's cigarettes. He needed one.

"They circle around you like hyena, waiting for a bite or a bit thrown their way from on high." Mikael was still staring at the water. Steven felt suddenly much colder than it was outside. He was at a loss for what to say. "They follow you around, just waiting."

A train started to come up on the crossing, the ground beginning to tremble as it came closer. Moss clutched to the hundred year old brick, familiar with the noise and shaking. Even the ducks were not afraid, swimming like nothing was happening. Mikael looked out at the trees, watching the leaves sway with the trains passing. Knowing that that many tonnes of engine was driving over their heads was very metal, and they both waited.

"Is this where you tell me you're different?" Steven stopped picking at the hem of his pants, looking over to Mikael annoyed.

Mikael smiled broadly this time. "No, this is where I tell you I am the best." He tossed some small pebbles into the water, watching the ripples circle out. "I am the best at wanting you, and I am the best at having you. You are mine."

"Errrmmm," Steven wasn't sure what to make of the sudden declaration. "I don't think you can actually own a person, not since the 1700's at least." It wasn't the first and wouldn't be the last time Steven doubted Mikael's English skills. Steven pulled at his hair, tucking it behind his ears.

Mikael pushed his sunglasses up into his hair, and for the first time in a long time, looked Steven in the eye. "I want you."

"Oooooh kayyy," Steven breathed out, uncomfortable with where this might be leading. "We've already established that fact."

Mikael got on his hands and knees, crawling the short distance between them and getting up in Steven's face. "I want to eat you."

Steven laughed. He couldn't help it. Mikael so close, with his left eye wandering slightly as it tended to do. Mikael's face fell immediately as Steven laughed. "Is that a Bathory lyric, or Throbbing Gristle?"

Mikael sat back on his heels, balancing his hands on his knees and glaring from under heavy brows. "You are not supposed to laugh, asshole."

"I"m sorry," he got out between breaths. "Was that supposed to be sexy?"

"Fucking hell." Mikael got up and started walking back towards the house. Steven had to jog to catch him, spinning him by the shoulder in the middle of the trail.

"Wait up. What the fuck?" Steven was a little winded and was surprised when Mikael pulled away from his touch.

"I thought you wanted me to be more aggressive."

"What?" Steven frowned and shook his head. "When did you decide this?"

"Yesterday, you were...." Mikael wrestled for the words. "Letting me do things and enjoying it."

Steven scratched his head. He tried to remember yesterday, he remembered the morning and it started to fuzz out in the afternoon. "What happened?" He had been drunk and high most of the day, some of his precious control slipping away.

"You do not remember?"

"Yeah, well, some of it. Kinda." He could only blink as Mikael stared him down. Mikael only gave him a squint and turned back down the path towards the house.

"If you can not remember, it must not have been important."

"Fuck," Steven swore to himself, chasing Mikael down the path again. "Mikael, wait!"

Mikael detoured when he hit the clearing around the house, finding the small well that at one time had given water to the house residents before the city built out the plumbing. He was leaning over the moss-green edge, staring down through the grate into the dark water below. Steven joined him, focused into the depths.

"You know I would leave my wife if you asked." Mikael didn't look up, hands resting in the pockets of his jacket.

Steven could only look at the side of his face. "I know," he said guiltily. He'd never really though of breaking up any marriages, they'd had their thing and then Mikael went back home. It was a double life in a way, but he'd never chosen to think about it.

"I'm not ready to come out."

"I'm not ready to ask you to do that."

"Jonas," Mikael paused, shaking his head. "When he first gave me your album, I told everyone he said we should work together." Mikael peeked a glance over at Steven. "I lied. He said we should be together."

Steven digested the new information and wondered what it had to do with anything. Mikael never said Jonas had any premonitions or anything like that. Fifteen years later, he still held that memory secret. "So what now?"

Mikael sat on the edge of the well, gazing out in to the open field. "You are too much alpha." he drew another cigarette out of the almost empty pack,lighting it up. "And I am too possessive. I can not 'collect' you."

"So no more attempts at eating my face off, Hannibal?"

"No, but I liked it when you let me be in control. You are far worse than I am, dominant wise."

"Occupational hazard. And I like where my face is." Steven scratched at the short beard growth. It itched and he knew he would have to shave again soon.

"I know where my face would like to be." Mikael grinned cheesily. "I have missed my lunch I was promised."

"Again?" There was no stopping Mikael's sex drive, apparently that was a normal thing in Sweden - how they hadn't populated the planet by now was a mystery. Mikael only grinned, showing gums and teeth. "Oh dear."

"The sun is still out." Mikael looked around, eyes catching on the swath of trees leading up the embankment to the train lines. There was a large elm tree just at the corner of the fencing. "Let's go this way." Mikael stood under the trees arbor and looked around. "The houseboats can not see you here."

Steven peeked around the tree, straight into someone's sitting room. "Yes, they can." He pointed out the starboard window, through which was clearly an older style drawing desk and chair.

"No, it is ok, they are not home now." Mikael pulled Steven close, kissing him on the corner of his jaw.

"Oh, so you don't want anyone to know, you just want someone to watch."

"And if you ask nicely next time I may film it."

Mikael waggled his brows in a way that left Steven fighting not to laugh out loud. It broke some of the earlier tension. "No, absolutely not." Mikael boxed his hands together like a director and started to zoom in on parts of Steven's anatomy. "Get up against the tree."

Mikael pretended to zoom in on his face. "I think I should be telling you that."

"You just finished telling me I was more alpha than you, and now you want me to just let you have your way with me?" He rounded on Mikael, pulling his arms behind his back and pushing him towards the tree. "You know you shouldn't mess with me." Steven pushed him the few paces towards the tree, much more comfortable with this role. "Empty your pockets." He watched as Mikael pulled out trinkets, a mobile phone, some small coins, nail clipper, guitar pick. It all went in a small pile in the grass. He kept the lighter, stashing it in his own trouser pocket. "Strip." Mikael hesitated, glancing at the houseboat. "I want you naked," Steven said, following Mikael's glance. "I thought you Finns were used to the cold."

Mikael narrowed his eyes. No one called him a Finn and Steven had done it on purpose to get a reaction out of him. "Don't call me that."

He had leaned forward slightly, using his larger frame threateningly. Steven held his ground, he didn't need size or strength to push people. "I will call you what I want." It was the constant battling that was so delicious. Steven knew Mikael craved a bit more dominance, but it would have to be on Steven's terms. "Get against the tree."

Mikael stood in front of the tree, reaching his arms up to hold on to a small branch above his head, knowing he was pushing Steven's buttons and already knowing how he would act. And Steven thought he was the one in control; he smiled as he rocked forward and back taunting the smaller man.

Steven saw his insolence, and only smirked in response. There were so many layers to their games it was like being in a room filled with mirrors, each reflection reflecting itself ad nauseum until you couldn't tell where the original was any longer. He knew Mikael knew, and yet he played along just the same. "Clothes off. Now." He didn't have to yell, didn't have to threaten. Just calm and low. He looked a damn fool screaming his head off but quiet and crazy worked like a charm.

Slowly Mikael pulled the clothes from his body, a striptease for Steven's eyes only, and anyone who happened to be on the trail or in the houseboat. Cotton fell into the overgrown grass as smooth skin was exposed to the sun. The dark tattoo on Mikael's forearm stood stark without the black of a tshirt.

"You like it when I make you wait." Mikael slowly pulled his belt apart, sliding it through the loops in his jeans.

"I do." Steven had the urge to remove his own jeans, to reach inside and touch himself, but instead he watched the heavy buckle be thrown over the tree branch, allowing Mikael to grab both ends of the belt and swing, shirtless. His knees barely cleared the dirt, the perfect height for Steven to just step forward and...

"Come here," Mikael said, still hanging by his hands. "I want to suck you."

Steven filed away the image of Mikael trussed up to be played with later. Something about the leather around his wrists, and the way it stretched out his already long frame. He stepped forward, stopping just out of Mikael's reach. "Maybe I don't want your mouth." Mikael opened his mouth, ready to complain. Steven set fingers in the patch of beard on Mikael's chin and shut his jaw. "Stand up. Please." Chocolate eyes looked up at him, confused. "I told you, against the tree. Not hanging from it."

Mikael pulled himself up and backed to the tree trunk, the rough bark scraping against his shoulders. "Like this?"

Steven nodded. "I also said clothes off, not just your shirt." Mikael started to reach for his fly. "No, wait." Mikael's hand froze on the zipper. "I'll do it."

He kneeled and replaced Mikael's hands, slowly pulling down the zip, finding skin underneath and remembering about this mornings incident with the tiger pants. Carefully he pushed back the flaps of Mikael's jeans and slid them down his wide hips, over the curve of his ass and down his thin legs. Steven ran a hand up the inside of Mikael's leg and wrapped it around Mikael's cock, stroking it to full hardness. With a deep breath he took Mikael into his mouth, running his tongue around his foreskin and to the sensitive head underneath.

Mikael groaned, a deep satisfied noise that made Steven's belly flop. The man had a whole vocabulary that didn't include a single word and in that incredible deep tone it all sounded like perfection. His mouth went on autopilot, working over the hard length as his brain greedily catalogued every move and noise Mikael made.

When fingers tangled in his hair, Steven pulled back and kissed Mikael's hip. "Turn around," he said softly. Mikael shuffled and turned, the denim at his ankles slowing him down. Carefully, Steven lifted one foot and pulled off the offending garment, leaving it around the other ankle. It was empowering to be fully clothed when such a powerful man in his own right was naked and spread before him. Steven followed the planes of flesh with his eyes, then his hand as he stood behind Mikael, one hand holding onto his waist. Fever bright eyes looked over a shoulder through fallen curls, waiting.

Steven dug into his pocket, pulling out the lighter he confiscated earlier. Saving up some spit, he first flicked the lighter, letting Mikael watch the small flame. He let go of the button and turned it around, sucking the plastic into his mouth and wetting it. "Bend over a bit, hang on to the trunk."

Steven watched him bend, folding slightly at the waist. His legs stepped further apart, dragging dark denim in the dirt. Steven sank to his knees again, hand sliding from waistline to Mikael's small bottom, soothing over the soft skin and circling around, loosening muscles tight from walking and arguing. He ran a finger down the middle split and looked up to find Mikael had crossed his arms on the tree and was leaning his head against his arms. He darted a finger across his opening, teasing the muscle and feeling it clench quickly. Steven pulled the lighter from his mouth, leaving it covered in saliva. Carefully he leaned closer, pulling the muscles apart and replacing his finger with a wet tongue. Mikael groaned and pushed back.

He set the warm plastic of the lighter against Mikael's opening, wiggling and pushing slightly, getting one corner in first and twisting until the entire bottom was in.

"Are you fucking me with my lighter?"

Steven paused his motions, looking under Mikael's arm. "Yes." He gave the small tube a small tug, pulling it back out.

"Fuck," Mikael breathed. He resettled and shifted his hips. Steven gave the lighter a push and watched centimeters disappear. Steven drew the lighter back and forth, twisting it every so often for something different. Growing bored Steven pulled the abused lighter out and tossed it away. Mikael watched over his shoulder again but said nothing. Steven struggled with his jeans, undoing them and freeing his cock.

He spit on his palm, trying to make it as enjoyable as possible. "You ready?"

Mikael nodded, again resting his head on his forearms. He had tensed up again, and Steven couldn't get him to relax.

"Breathe, Mikael." He used the proper pronunciation, Meekel, hoping it would soothe. He leaned against Mikael's form, reaching around and touching him, running his thumb over the slit at the top as he knew Mikael liked. Mikael made a throaty noise and pushed into Steven's grip. He bent to kiss a shoulder, scratching his long stubble on Mikael's naked flesh.

Mikael pushed back into his hips, wanting it whether he was ready or not. The lighter should have loosened him more than it did, and Steven feared hurting him.

"I will not break, just fuck me." Mikael was rearing back, trying to land on Steven, who had pulled slightly away to a safer distance.

"You're not ready, it'll hurt." Steven ran his fingers over the curve of Mikael's ass, the tension there now from need, not from stress.

Mikael tried to reach behind him and pull Steven close, failing miserably and grabbing at air. "Wife said same thing when I had her fuck me with a strap on." Steven's eyes went coin-round unaware of Mikael's other supposedly less deviant activities back home. "She could not do it right, always worried about being gentle." Mikael grabbed again, getting a handful of Steven's tshirt, pulling at it. "Fuck me hard. I want it."

Steven was still stunned. Mikael never talked about his marriage like that. He talked mundane things, but no graphic details. Mikael pulled at his shirt with the strength of a man possessed. His brain still derailed at the thought of Mikael bent over with his wife at his back thrusting into him. His body knew enough to stand behind Mikael, hands automatically on his cock, guiding it as Mikael pushed back. There was a lot of pressure as he found the right spot, and then an obliterating bliss as Mikael enveloped him.

"Yessssss...." Mikael hissed, fingers digging into the tree bark. They moved together as they always had, Mikael's groans and Steven's profanities filling the field. Anyone in that houseboat was getting a good show. Things progressed, each man closing in on his climax. Steven grabbed on to Mikael's hips, keeping a steady rhythm as Mikael began to falter.

Mikael had reached between his legs and started jerking himself off in time with Steven's thrusts, arching his back and twitching around Steven, pushing him even closer to coming.

With the last of his reserve, Steven bent close enough that he could whisper to Mikael. "The woman in the houseboat is watching." Mikael gasped and clenched down, the tightness and heat unbearable. Steven struggled to stand as his orgasm hit, letting Mikael bear his weight as the world blanked out for seconds.

Mikael had started to stand up and Steven slid off his back onto his own shaky legs. "There is no woman in the houseboat." Mikael had his hand shading his eyes, unabashed at his nudity and clearly in no rush to cover up.

Steven leaned against the tree, tucking himself back into his jeans. A lot of the voices in his head had quieted and it was always a bit strange not to hear them. "There was never anyone, Mikael."

"Then why did you tell me that?" Mikael was still searching the row of boats. Steven spied a spot where his nails had dug crescent shaped marks into Mikael's flank. Oops.

"Got you off, didn't it?"

"Yeah, but...." Mikael turned and started sorting through his clothes. "Never mind."

"I need some wine." Steven grumped, waiting for Mikael to get dressed.

"You still have not fed me." Mikael pulled the abused tshirt over his head. "I will get grumpy soon."

"I've got pasta, or something." Steven prayed he had some spaghetti left somewhere. "Cheese maybe."

Mikael rolled his eyes. "I wish to take you to the super market after the record fair tomorrow." He dusted off his trousers. "No wonder you are so skinny." Mikael grabbed and held out of one Steven's arms. Even under the jumper one could tell he was slight.

"Wine, please, now." Steven pointed in the direction of the house, happy when Mikael started walking smoothly.

"Last one to the door has to wash the glasses." Steven didn't even try to keep up. Mikael's strides were long and his route was direct. Steven stopped to grab Mikael's phone and pocket things, opting to leave the lighter in the grass.


	6. Don't Drink and Record

Mikael was in the kitchen, the large balloon glasses already on the counter waiting. He was crunching on something, finding some long lost edible in the barren kitchen. "What wine do you want?"

Steven shrugged, looking through the rack. He pulled one out and dusted it off, reading the label quickly. "How's this one?"

"Is it red?" he asked, squinting at the script.

"Yeah, it's a Chateau... Uuuh..." Steven turned the bottle back around. "Chateau Drink Me Now, from Italy." He pulled at the foil, not the least bit surprised to find a screw top underneath. "Six pounds at Sainsbury's, I believe."

"So you think I am cheap then?" Mikael leaned on the counter as Steven poured the dark red wine.

"No, I know you're cheap, there's a difference." He leveled the glasses, leaving the bottle half full and screwing the cap back on. "Cheers."

Mikael grabbed at a glass and drank. Steven swirled his glass, hoping for non-existent body or complexity when he knew there was very little chance. "Tastes good." Mikael took another sip. "I am going to get hammered."

"Movie?"

"Yes," Mikael nodded, picking up his glass and already heading to the living area. Steven followed him, bringing the rest of the bottle and waiting on the sofa as Mikael picked through the DVDs, looking for something appealing.

Mikael fiddled with the equipment as he sat the disk in the player, turning things on and pushing random buttons. He sat next to Steven, long legs crossed over each other as the movie started. It was an artsy film, not one of the big American blockbusters that seemed to fill every other DVD collection in a normal house. They settled in, sipping wine and occasionally making comments to each other on a plot idea or cinematography issue. Mikael was really coming a long way with his visual ideas from the clueless kid Steven had first met.

The wine drank smoothly and Steven leaned against Mikael's solidness. He was warm, and smelled good, and with the heat of the wine starting in his belly he needed the human contact. Mikael looked over and carefully draped his arm around Steven's shoulders, giving him a small hug. Steven closed his eyes, savoring the quietness for times in the future when he would need the memory.

Cradling both his wine and Steven, Mikael felt serene. He had no doubts that he loved the man next to him, would do anything for him, but fear lingered. He wasn't sure of his own feelings. No one but Steven ever felt like this. He still loved his wife, and grieved for the day she would find out, but he didn't consider his actions negative. If he was a god fearing man he'd be dead on the spot, carrying on outside of his marriage with another man. He feared the day his daughters found out that Uncle Steven was more than just Uncle Steven. His wife was an adult and would heal in time, but he was scared for his girls.

Wine made the thoughts stop and allowed him to focus on the movie. Steven seemed to be sleeping on his chest, the small puffs of air warming his shirt with every exhale. Steven was lucky in his way. No one but himself to tell him how to live his life, when to come home from the studio or come back from a tour. He knew the feelings of loneliness, any musician does, but Steven would always come home to a cold, empty house. Mikael knew he could never be that strong.

He set his empty glass on the sofa, propping it up against the other unused arm. He stared at the part in Steven's hair, each tiny spot sprouting a single hair that grew down. Mikael leaned his head against Steven's and closed his eyes, intending just to rest for a minute.

He woke to the DVD icon bouncing around the screen and Steven drooling on his chest, snoring softly. Mikael stretched, his bladder threatening to burst. Sadly he shook Steven, who sniffled and snuffled and finally woke, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. "Movie is over," Mikael said softly. "Gotta piss."

"Mmmmmh, okay." Steven pulled away and leaned against the arm of the sofa, reaching for the wineglass he'd left on the coffee table earlier.

When Mikael got back Steven was still sitting there, TV and DVD player off and the room dark. He was staring into his wineglass like it held the secrets of the universe. Mikael poured himself another glass of wine. "Want to go fuck around in the studio?"

It seemed to break Steven's thoughts. "Yeah. You still have that song?" Mikael nodded. It was just a riff, really, but it went around and Steven would help him flesh it out. "Turn it on, I'll be in in a minute." He headed up the stairs as Mikael had done. Mikael wandered over into the small room, turning on all the gadgets that made up Steven's small studio. The Mac took the longest to boot up, and he could never find the power switch on the board. While he waited he grabbed Steven's acoustic guitar and started picking out a few things, warming up and remembering what he played earlier today.

Steven hung in the doorway, fresh bottle of wine and two glasses in his hand. He was constantly amazed by the stuff that Mikael put out, even the stuff he ripped and deleted was better than most of the best anyone else could do. It was rare for anyone to hold his attention for this long, even rarer for Steven to be drawn to his person rather than just collecting his music from afar. There was something organic about Mikael and his creativity and it always kept Steven on his toes. Perhaps it was what he liked - you never knew what he was going to come up with.

He listened to the passage from the guitar shop this afternoon. Mikael wasn't recording yet, just fucking around, taking the simple riff and playing with it, sculpting the sound. Steven pushed away from the door after realizing he was staring, sitting in his chair and setting the glasses down. "I like that bit."

"It's shit." Mikael dragged his pick up the A string and set the guitar against the small table on his side of the couch. Steven continued the ritual of flipping on all the outboard gear and setting up a new session. He opened the new wine, each of them getting a larger pour this time. He could still feel the underlying tension between them and handed Mikael a glass.

"If you play that again I can loop it. Put some pads underneath it."

Mikael drank, pulling a microphone on a stand across the red carpet and tapping on the capsule. He pushed it away when no sound came out of the small monitors. "Let me know when you are ready." He needed a refill by the time the screen was ready, and continued to drink quickly. Steven tried to keep up, the swill nature of the wine not making it easy. It was too sweet and overly alcoholic, appealing to the £6 crowd at the market and not to a wine connoisseur.

The guitar sounded again, Mikael trying out a new variation on his theme. Steven hurried to set up some patches, looping it through the auxes before cancelling it and deciding to record straight. They could fix it later. Suddenly the keyboard felt a little spongy under his fingers. He hadn't meant to drink that much already considering it didn't even taste very good. Steven wasn't sure how Mikael was hitting notes on the fretboard, he'd had much more than Steven did and was still playing. Wasn't the first time they'd been drunk recording, and it wouldn't be the last. Hell, half of Storm Corrosion was done with some chemical influence.

Steven set up the track and started recording. Later he would pour over the hours of sound, cataloging every usable bit and filing it away on a remote hard drive. He listened to Mikael play, getting the feeling of his variations and moving to his keyboard. Waiting for it to come around again, he added his own little bit, coloring the sound and keeping it weird. He thought he almost had part of a vocal line as well, Steven wove his own pattern through Mikael's run, separate but yet fitting.

They recorded more than enough for the night, the sun long having dipped below the horizon and Mikael was getting tired. The ideas were still flowing as was the wine, several empty bottles carefully set on the windowsill but his fingers were getting sloppy and starting to hurt. He hadn't played this many hours straight in years, not even while on tour.

Mikael stopped playing, letting Steven explore the run he'd come up with. Mikael had another line to pair with Steven's new creation and played it again. It went around and round, filling up screens as the cursor kept rolling across. The next time he stopped it was to lean over and grab his wine, watching Steven's shoulders as he played. The keyboard was in piano mode, and the small room was filled with a quasi-classical piece. Steven looked over his shoulder to see Mikael just watching and sipping wine, staring like he's found the secret of the universe. Steven's fingers stumbled, using his pitch wheel to cover it up and twisting the passage into something dark and distorted.

With a flourish he raised his hands off the keyboard suddenly. "What?" Mikael kept staring, a soft smile on his wine stained lips as he shook his head slightly.

"I like the way your hair moves when you play." He hung onto the guitar, arm around the soundhole while his other arm wrapped around the body from under the neck.

Steven hit the space bar, stopping the recording. It was late and the wine was taking its toll. He stood up stretched his back. Bending over the keyboards was not as easy as it used to be. He sat on his end of the red sofa, forgetting how long it had been his end and how it ever ended up his end in the first place. Mikael sat his guitar on top of the case by the window, looking out at the stars for a moment before sitting back with Steven.

"I can make something out of that, I think. Few tracks in there."

Mikael leaned back into the cushions, resting his head against the back of the sofa. "Good. You were recording?"

"Everything."

Mikael only closed his eyes. "Delete the last thing I said. About your hair."

Steven turned on the sofa, pulling a leg underneath him and resting his left arm on the back. He cocked his head, an action missed by Mikael. "Why?"

Mikael blew out a long breath. "Because, that Deep Purple bootleg I bought, Dehumanizer sessions?" He waited, moving on when he felt Steven nod. "Thirty years after they recorded I was listening to them intently, pulling apart every detail." He paused, biting his lower lip. "In thirty years, I don't want another me listening to his idols drunk and getting it on."

Again, Steven had to fight to figure out what direction to go. Either he could convince Mikael society would change or that the session would never leak. They both knew that this was special, and when they were old, or gone... "Why does that bother you? You were the one wanting to make a sex tape earlier."

Wrong direction, Steven... Mikael stiffened, pulling his long legs up protectively. "My girls would be hurt, their Far so fucked up."

Steven froze, even as Mikael shook slightly. After four bottles of wine it was finally out, and sadly Steven knew he could never really understand it in anything more than abstraction. "I can delete it, but you can't unsay it."

Mikael's head shot up, his bloodshot eyes wet. "I do not want to unsay it." He reached out a shaky hand to Steven's hair, gently stroking the straight strands. "It is true."

"You're too drunk right now." Steven looked sadly at him, wondering now if that is why he was drinking so fast earlier. "You won't remember any of this tomorrow."

"I remember." Mikael had wrapped a small section of Steven's hair around a finger. "I always remember, but claiming to forget can be a good excuse for doing dumb shit."

"Do you want to go home?" Steven could only hold his breath. If Mikael felt that bad about their relationship, he had to give him every opportunity to end it without killing their friendship.

Mikael blinked, unable to hide the tears. "I..." his voice caught and he let go of Steven's hair, reaching to the floor and downing the rest of his wine. He clutched the empty glass and spun it by the stem, avoiding looking at Steven.

"It's ok." Steven laid a hand on his upper arm. "I just... need to know where I am."

"The second time today I was going to call this home." Mikael weighed the glass in his hand, lifting it up and sending it sailing towards a blank spot in the wall. It shattered, sending shards down in between the wall and studio junk. He put his face in his hands and leaned forward. "Fucking thing."

Steven just watched as he rocked himself. Sometimes words didn't help and he knew in his drunken state that what ever would come out wouldn't be ideal. Leaving Mikael to sort himself out, he saved the session and started shutting down. There would be no more recording tonight. He kneeled before Mikael, tucking the brown curls behind his ears. Long fingers refused to move, shielding his eyes.

"Let's go to bed. Sleep it off."

Carefully he pried fingers away from Mikael's face, holding them in his own hands. When their eyes finally met, Steven was blown away by the things he saw in Mikael's eyes. Fear was there prominently, and sadness, but also a stronger resolution underneath. Mikael had made some decision in his drunkenness, all Steven had to do was wait for him to share it. He was a collector himself, much like Mikael. The analytical part of him rationalized that it was Mikael's decision and he couldn't make him stay, but the other rigidly controlled part of him wanted. He would tuck Mikael away in his pocket and carry him off to some forgotten island where they could be alone. He never knew where those feelings came from, some dark ancient part of his psyche, and he tried really hard to control them.

Dave Stewart had said once, publicly no less, that Steven would be out shooting up schools if the music thing hadn't worked out. At the time Steven had chuckled at the irony; Dave hadn't known just how accurate he was.

Small red veins stood out on the white of Mikael's eyes, giving it an overall pinky look. Two days on a bender was taking its toll, yet his eyes were so damn trusting despite all the other emotions in them. "Okay," was all he said, allowing Steven to stand and pull him to his feet. Steven slid his arms around the larger man's waist, steadying him as they moved thorough the house. Mikael leaned against him more than Steven thought he should.

Steven laid Mikael on the bed, a parallel to last night. Carefully he removed the heavy belt and the rest of Mikael's clothes, pulling the duvet up to his shoulders and tucking him in. Mikael stirred, looking confused. "What are you doing here?"

Steven's hair fell forward and he brushed it back. "Putting you to bed, you drunken lout."

"I thought you were in England." Mikael closed his eyes and turned, already asleep.

"We are in England." Steven pulled back Mikael's hair, gathering the curls and setting them behind his head. They twisted away on the pillow, spiraling against the soft green fabric.

"Lämna inte," he murmured, already under. Steven didn't recognize the words, but filed them away for later. He watched Mikael slumber for a while before finally getting up and heading back to the ground floor. Sitting with the acoustic Mikael had monopolized all night, he started strumming, running through a few chords. He soon packed it away in it's case, grabbing a pen from the cup on the desk and starting to scribble on the notepad.


	7. A Vinyl Affair

Mikael woke up and quickly wished he hadn't. His head felt like an overfull fishbowl, his bladder in almost the same state. His stomach spun when he tried to open his eyes, the warm bundle in his arms jerking away, bouncing on the bed and sending his stomach for a loop. Mikael pulled himself to sit on the edge of the bed, balancing his head to keep it from falling off. Feeling like utter shit he stumbled his way to the bath.

His stomach was still empty going on day number two and he couldn't stand it anymore. He didn't understand how Steven could live in a house with absolutely no food. Pulling on his dirty jeans and borrowing one of Steven's tshirts, he headed out the door and down the road, thinking he remembered a cafe off the main road. He squinted against the late morning sun, almost willing to stop and eat the trees he passed by.

The cafe was where he remembered, and the food was hot and plentiful. Mikael's stomach settled with some greasy food and soda, his headache mostly dissolving. He realized he probably smelled bad, greasy hair tucked under a knit cap and looking like death warmed over. His armpit itched, reminding him of Steven's addition to his current bouquet. That and that fake cream had left a grainy sugar like coating on his balls. Next stop, once he figured out how to get back into the house, was a shower.

The walk wasn't bad on the way back, half a mile at most and the sunshine didn't hurt like it did earlier. He had a doggie bag for Steven; he could eat it or starve, but Mikael hadn't seen a grocer and wasn't about to go exploring in his current condition.

The mobile in his pocket bleeped as stepped down the concrete stairs that led to the canal walkway. He paused and answered the call only because it was Steven.

“Where are you?” He sounded panicked, rushing to get his words out and louder than was called for.

“I am at the bridge.” He leaned against the sun-warmed steel, letting the paper bagged sandwich balance on the top rail..

Steven breathed quickly, Mikael could hear the wind against the phone receiver. There was not much that sounded like wind, it would be obvious he was actually outside. “Don't do anything rash.”

Mikael raised an eyebrow. So that's what Steven thought. “Damn, here I was just standing on the hand rail for fun. I wondered why the cars were hitting the horn.”

“Don't jump! Don't jump!” Noises sounded in the background, probably Steven knocking over things in his haste to do something.

“Steven, I ate food, and it was wonderful.” The crashing noises stopped. “I have a sandwich for you.”

“Where are you?” he asked cautiously.

“I am at the bridge. Not far from the house on my way back.”

Things were silent for a moment. “You'll get here alright?”

Mikael only sighed. “Yes, mother. I am an adult now.”

Steven scoffed. “Just bring my sandwich so we can get on the road to Reading.”

“We are still going to the record show?” Mikael started walking again, the greasy sandwich bouncing in it's bag. “I would like to go.”

“Yes, yes, we're still going.” He paused. “If you want.”

With his day suddenly looking better, Mikael smiled. “Yes, I want.”

“Ok, only because it's you.” He could hear the wry smile over the phone. He could see Steven tucking his hair behind his ear again.

“I will be back soon.” Mikael slid the menu closed, ending the call. Funny little man having a panic attack over his need for food. He probably should have left a note... Oh well. He smoothed his beard and kicked at the dirt, leaving his footprints in the path.

He pushed on the familiar green door and kicked off his shoes, happy when it looked like everything inside was still in one piece. Steven was sitting on the leather sofa, legs and arms crossed waiting less than patiently. Steven rose and met him at the door. “You're back.”

Mikael held out the paper bag. “Your sandwich, my lord.”

Steven grabbed it and brought it back to the sofa, opening the bag and pulling out breakfast. Little time was wasted as he bit into it hungrily.

Mikael smiled. “Super market, then?”

Steven wiped away a stray bit of dressing. “Only if you're staying.”

“For a while, yes.” Mikael nodded, lingering at the arm of the sofa and checking his email on his phone while Steven ate. “I have to shower.”

“'Ang on,” Steven said around a mouthful. “Gimme a minute and we'll take one together.”

Mikael smiled again, pocketing his mobile. “Then we will never make the record show.”

Steven waived him upstairs, lettuce bits falling into his lap. For rare vinyl the sex could wait. They had all night and tomorrow with no plans except maybe recording a bit and getting groceries. How mundane the real life of a metal band was. Mikael was brushing his teeth when Steven knocked on the bathroom door, opening it to find a still dressed Mikael bending over the sink.

“Why are you still dressed?”

“Why are you naked without me?” Mikael asked after rinsing his mouth. Steven pushed past him, bending over to work the taps and get the water started, giving Mikael a good view. He pulled the curtain closed and took his glasses off, setting the on the crowded sink while Mikael rubbed himself through his jeans.

“I saw that.” Steven ducked into the shower, unimpressed by Mikael's antics. The hot water was already causing steam to build up on the mirror. Steven set about scrubbing himself quickly, washing his hair and body as quickly as possible. It was already late and the drive to Reading would take a while.

“What are you doing?” Mikael stuck his head in around the curtain.

“Showering,” Steven squinted as the foamy shampoo dripped down his back. “This is a shower.” Mikael looked at Steven's wet form, forgetting his train of thought. “And you can close your mouth now, 'm not that blind.” Mikael didn't even realize he was staring, taking in all the soapy wet myopic mess.

“You look... really good.” Steven leaned his head back, letting the spray hit his neck and shoulders.

“'Course I do, now are you in or out?” Mikael hummed, not understanding the question. “Are you in the shower or standing in the bath? You're letting the warm air out.”

“Oh, in, definitely in.” Mikael pulled the curtain shut and quickly stripped, leaving his dirty clothes on the floor in a pile. He parted the curtain one last time, long legs stepping over the edge of the tub. He rubbed his biceps, it was still cold not being under the hot water.

Steven rinsed his hair and Mikael watched as the last of the bubbles washed away. He suddenly didn't care that it was cold anymore, instead warmth filled him as his cock rose again. Steven really had the nicest ass he'd seen anywhere, man or woman.

“Get under the spray, you'll feel warmer.” Steven reached out for him, pulling him forward and turning sideways, slipping past him. Mikael used the closeness to rub against him. Steven hesitated slightly but moved to the back of the tub. He grabbed a flannel and some soap, working up a lather before setting the soap back in the dish. “Wash your hair or we'll never make the show before it ends.”

Mikael could argue but chose not to, ducking his head under the hot water. He could have Steven anytime, the record show would box up and move on shortly. “I have a certain part that needs extra cleaning.”

Steven was scrubbing his thighs. “I'll wash your back, but if you want a hand job you're out of luck.” He handed Mikael the shampoo.

“Just touch it, just a little.” Mikael turned, his back towards the shower head. “Or you can suck it, that is not a hand job.”

Steven washed his feet, one on the edge and balancing carefully. “No, we're late enough as it is with your little detour earlier, and I'm still mad.”

“You can be unmad now.” Mikael squirted a glob of shampoo into his hand and began scrubbing his scalp.

“By giving you a blow job, right.”

“Yes,” said Mikael as if he was talking to a toddler.

Steven threw the used flannel at Mikael's chest. “Let me get rinsed off.” Mikael moved out from the spray, but stood in the middle of the tub, forcing Steven to rub against him as he changed spots again. He caught Steven as he moved past, grabbing his hips and pretending to help him balance on the slippery bottom.

“Most household accidents happen in the bathroom.”

Steven pushed away and got under the spray, adjusting the temperature quickly. “Yeah, because of horny sots like you trying to hump them and pushing them off balance.”

Mikael rinsed the flannel, a good excuse to stick his hand on Steven's thin chest. He soaped up quickly, washing away the sticky cream remnants and washing his armpits extra carefully.

“Mind if I...? Mikael circled his fingers around his cock, waving it in Steven's direction.

Steven rolled his eyes. “Just hurry up or we'll be late.” He brushed past Mikael a final time, climbing out of the bath as the water started to turn cold. The lukewarm water wilted Mikael's erection, and he turned his attention to washing the soap from his body, picking up a bottle he hoped was conditioner and slathering his hair, quickly rinsing it out and hoping it was good enough. The water was rapidly verging on chilled and Mikael switched the tap off, waiting for Steven to hand him a towel.

It didn't come, and he wiped the water from his pricked skin the best he could. Stepping out into an empty bathroom was a surprise, Steven would usually be combing his hair or shaving but instead had left. Mikael hoped he hadn't pushed him too far, the sandwich should have calmed him a bit. Rifling through the linen closet he found a towel and dried himself, wandering out into the greater house to find clean clothing.

Mikael didn't bring any changes of clothes with him. He could wear one of Steven's bigger shirts, but pants... the man was tiny, there was no way he would fit into them, and sweatpants just seemed so tacky.

He found Steven in the bedroom, dressed already and poking through various piles of items that had collected in the dark corner. “Can I borrow some clothes?”

“Yeah, help yourself.” Mikael knew where things were, and dug himself out what he needed, flipping through a few piles of trousers, holding a few up and suddenly feeling rather overweight. He might get a leg in. Barely. The pants stretched enough with the elastic waist. He would certainly make an impression at the show sans trousers. “A ha!”

Steven retreated with his treasure, a ratty looking shopping bag. He tore into the old and brittle plastic, shredding it and pulling out some clothing. “You left this here a long time ago. Kept meaning to give them back, but...”

He held out a wrinkled pair of track pants, circa 2006. Mikael didn't even remember owning a pair, certainly not leaving his clothes here. He held them up to himself, at least the size was close. “Are you sure these are mine?”

“Course they are. Who's else would they be?” Steven gathered up the plastic and tossed it in a bin.

“I don't know. Do not think about what you do when I am not around.” Mikael smelled the trousers. They only smelled like everything else in Steven's house. After six years they should.

“Like they're knocking down the door.”

Mikael only looked at him. He could run up a good list without even thinking about it. Swallowing back a rude comment, Mikael slipped the garment on and it seemed to fit ok. Not exactly modern style, but he would no longer get arrested in public. “They fit.”

“I should hope so, you haven't grown any.”

Mikael bit his tongue at Steven's cluelessness. “Ready to go?” He changed the subject, much better than continuing on that thread.

Steven nodded, grabbing his wallet and heading down the stairs. He grabbed his manbag on the way out and slung it over his shoulder. It would come in handy today as Mikael filled it with his purchases and left Steven to carry the heavy albums back.

It was a quiet drive west to Redding, Steven's car gliding across the small motorways that made up the heart of Britain. They found the place where the show was supposed to be and it looked more like a community centre than a sales area. Doubtlessly they'd have to be out at 6pm sharp for the bunco crowd to set up.

Steven parked and they walked in the building, navigating to the large room where tables were set up, vendors with their boxes and the ragtag crowd already searching for lost relics. The smell was not unlike a Star Trek convention, or a Dungeons and Dragons game room – it was a particular odor that just said Sausage Party; partly mildew, partly Axe body spray, and a good part of longing after Cars and Blind Faith cover art.

Mikael breathed deep, and immediately wished he hadn't. Maybe it was the smell of age, or simply Redding, but he coughed discreetly into his shoulder and soldiered onward. They found a good table with some obi's and split up, each one taking an end and working inward. Mikael pulled out a gray sleeve with some thin line drawings. “Steven, how about this one?”

He quickly scanned the cover, the Aqua letters clear as ever. “I have that one, it's really good. 1974, I think, right after he fell out the window and broke his back.”

Mikael looked at the cover again. All it said was 'Robert Wyatt Rock Bottom produced by Pink Floyd's Nick Mason'. The flipped it over to read the back cover notes.

“You should get it, you'll like it.” Mikael still boggled at how Steven remembered so much. “Side two is pretty disjointed in a good way.” Mikael looked at his pile compared to Steven's lone purchase, watching as Steven went back to flipping through disks in the bins.

“This one?” Steven held up an album.

“Have it,” he barely lifted his eyes from his search. “It's shit.”

“Excuse me.” A leather jacket clan man pushed their way between them. The shockingly silver hair was pulled back into a small ponytail and while not flashy, everything about him screamed 'expensive', probably one of those Maserati fools parked by the football fields.

“Hello, sir.” Mikael lifted his head. Anytime Steven called someone Sir it was time to pay attention. “Steven Wilson, Porcupine Tree.” The man nodded, reaching out and shaking hands. “And this is my friend Mikael from Opeth.”

He released Steven's hand, turning and holding out his hand to Mikael. “Hi, Jimmy Page.”

Mikael froze, trying to cover as best as he could. “Hi, I love your stuff.” Man, that was lame, Mikael thought. He probably heard that a million times over his career.

“Opeth?” Mikael nodded at his question. “Good band, like the last album especially.”

That was it, Mikael was going to clutch at his heart and die in Reading. “Have you met Ross yet?”

Jimmy pointed across the aisle to a balding man with a bag similar to Steven's. “He's a photographer.” The man held up a middle finger without even looking back, a small stack of albums balanced on his hip. “What have you found?” Mikael set his stack on the bins, letting Jimmy pick through them. He saw the Pretty Things album and pulled out his own. “Mine's the UK version though. Shame you found the New Zealand one first.” He pulled out another of Mikael's, the first Budgie album. “Don't think I've heard this one before.” He read over the back. “You a collector?”

“Yeah, I have thousands.” He stared at Jimmy, still reading the back notes. “All sorts, used to just be death metal, but now it's noise and prog and Canterbury.”

Jimmy slipped him back the Budgie album. “Still into the blues myself,” he showed Mikael the top album, an old looking Ledbelly EP. He hitched a thumb over his shoulder. “Ross listens to all things, so I hear a lot of it as well.”

“Do I have this one?” Ross held up a busy looking sleeve to Jimmy.

“That's an Italian pressing, and yes, you do.”

Ross glared at the record like it had wronged him somehow. “Don't think I do. I'll just get it in case.”

“You're not from England, then?” Jimmy had ignored Ross, turning back to Mikael.

“No, I'm from Stockholm, but staying in Hemel Hempstead for now.”

“Middle of nowhere,” Jimmy commented.

Mikael shrugged. “It is home. Came over for the Prog Rock Awards a few days back.”

“You should go back to London, there's a record fair there next weekend.”

“Oh yeah?” Mikael salivated at the thought of more records.

“Yeah, me and Ross are going, it's not too far from Kensington.” He lifted his silver eyebrows slightly. “I could show you around.”

“Excuse me,” Steven butted his thin hip between them. “Mikael, a moment please.” He pointed down the aisle and towards a door. Mikael looked at him, puzzled.

“Ok, I'll be back.” Mikael nodded at Jimmy, who waived him off. Steven waited for Mikael to move first, setting down his records in a bin. Mikael turned to watch Steven stride behind him, thunderclouds on his brow. He was pushed through the door, which happened to be a bathroom. Steven herded him into the only stall, locking the door.

“What are you doing!?” Steven exploded. “He's flirting with you and you're all but moved in with him!”

“What?” Mikael thought over the last few minutes, remembering nothing of the sort. “He was not.”

Steven dropped his bag by the cinder block wall onto the filthy tiles. “You look at him again, and I swear I'll cut your fucking dick off.”

Mikael was still in shock as Steven placed his hand on his crotch and grabbed his cock through his track pants. The pressure was enough to cause Mikael's blood to start flowing.

“You're hard for him, fucking slut.” Mikael stammered, trying to deny, but Steven's hand only moved again and got a better hold. “You're fucking mine, and I don't share.” Anytime Steven put his hands on him he knew he could never win.

“I didn't...” Steven hit a spot right under his cockhead, rubbing the pad of his finger across it repeatedly. Mikael grabbed onto the metal stall divider, hanging on for dear life.

Without a word Steven dropped to his knees, his sneakers sticking out from under the door. Mikael was pushed back into the toilet, his calves making contact with stained porcelain. Steven ripped into his clothing, pulling the garments down over his erection. It sprang free, growing even larger before Steven's face.

Mikael closed his eyes as Steven's lips took him in. His hand white knuckled over the divider and a soft moan stole from his throat. Steven worked quickly, jealousy and possessiveness making him suck harder and stroke faster, hitting all the little spots he knew would send Mikael over the edge.

A knock sounded on the door. “Hurry up, I need to leave a dump.”

Steven pulled his mouth away. “Fuck off out in the alley.” His voice was rough and winded, but better than Mikael's which was non-existent. Quickly Steven's mouth fell on Mikael again, tongue wrapping around and stroking every vein and ridge. Hands grabbed at his balls, pulling and kneading the hair covered globes. Mikael moaned again, unable to control himself. He thrust into Steven's mouth and throat, crushing himself against the point of Steven's nose.

Mikael felt himself close in on his orgasm, letting Steven pull him over. The mouth on his cock stopped, replaced by a tight fist that glided on a layer of spit.

Mikael opened his eyes, watching Steven's angry face as he stroked without pausing. A bright pink flush rode his cheekbones, letting Mikael know anger wasn't the only thing Steven was feeling. Mikael tensed as the pressure rose from his tailbone. He managed to keep his eyes open as he came, strings landing on Steven's upturned face, streaking across his glasses.

Steven stroked gently, slowly stopping and sucking the last drops from the tip. Mikael shuddered, overwhelmed and too sensitive, fighting his buckling knees. Once he was stable, Mikael pulled Steven to his feet and held him around the waist with one arm, using the other to blot his face with paper. A red tongue darted out, licking his lips and cleaning them. The glasses were beyond Mikael's help. Even clean paper smeared the come further, turning the clear lenses slightly opaque.

Steven took them off and folded them, slipping one arm inside his shirt collar. They hung against his chest, covered in Mikael's essence. Steven turned and unlocked the stall, bending over the small sink and turning the warm tap and rinsing his face. Mikael leaned against the concrete wall, waiting for Steven to decide what he wanted to do, Steven's manbag slung over his shoulder.

After drying his face on a stiff paper towel, Steven came toe to toe with Mikael, his weak eyes squinting to see without lenses.

“I want you to leave your wife.” Mikael knew he wasn't kidding this time. Instead of a bland blankness, this time there was fire and conviction. Steven's eyes bored through him and sliced him to ribbons.

“I...” Mikael started to speak, but Steven rushed him, forearm raised and pressing against his throat. He was trapped against the cold cinder block.

“Leave her!”

Steven was strong, much stronger than Mikael had ever seen. Small sparkly dots danced before his eyes as Steven put all his scant weight into Mikael's throat. Mikael pushed at his arms, small breaths making it out around the choke hold. Not enough air was getting in. He pushed at Steven's shoulders, leaning into him and throwing the smaller man off balance. Steven stumbled back, chest heaving at was probably the most physical confrontation he'd had since fighting for his life on the rugby field at school.

Mikael rubbed at his throat, not injured but worried about the sudden change in Steven's behaviour. Steven paced and pushed the restroom door open, striding into the record fair without a look back. Mikael followed him, brushing off fans and autograph requests, finding Steven sitting in the driver's seat of his car, keys in the ignition, but car off. His hands gripped the steering wheel so hard Mikael thought it would bend.

He sat in the passenger seat and closed the door, blocking out the road noise. The record fair was all but forgotten.

In a twisted way, Mikael was impressed that Steven finally make a move, even if it was horrifically extreme. It validated his thoughts yesterday that he didn't want to admit to; that his life in Sweden was rapidly winding down and things were going to change. He didn't mean for it to happen, but it had. He also realized they would probably end up killing each other in the future, the darkness each locked up boiling over uncontrolled at some point and winding up another murder/suicide on page four of the local paper.

“This will not end well.” Steven let out a breath and rested his head on the steering wheel.

“You will make a good father.” Steven looked over quickly, wiping at his eyes, and then staring back at the wheel. “I have no doubts.”

Steven swallowed hard, fighting for neutrality. “I can't see. I can't drive.” He pulled the keys out and handed the entire chain to Mikael. On it was everything, car keys, house keys, garden shed key, and a small trinket, a black pick with a hole punched near the top.

“You kept it?” Mikael touched the pick, running his finger along the edge. It had been used when he gifted it, the silver script worked off by time.

“'Course, it's all I had for a long time.” Mikael knew things went missing when Steven was around, but he didn't care. They were all trivial – a dirty tshirt, pillowcase, picks and broken strings. Probably where Steven got the pants Mikael was wearing today.

The got out to switch seats, Mikael catching Steven's arm as the both walked past the car bonnet. Steven jumped, relaxing when he was pulled into a hug. Mikael pressed his lips against Steven's cheek, trying to soothe both of them. The next few weeks would be rough, but after that things would get easier.


	8. Mor and Far

Mikael opened the homey green door with his key, carrying the smaller girl in his arms. The older girl walked behind him, looking around at the new house and getting a feel for where her dad was leading them. In a wash of pinks and purples they entered the house fresh from the airport, their bags still in the car.

Steven leaned against the kitchen door, watching as the girls scanned the room and hoping they liked it. Mikael set down his daughter and closed the door, telling them to take off their shoes in this house. He smiled as he closed in on the house's owner, using his long reach to pull the man into his arms and press their lips together. Thin arms came around his shoulders, pulling him near and holding him.

“Ewww, Dad, that's so gross!” Melinda ran to explore the house and claim her bedroom while Mirjam was sitting on the leather sofa.

“Is Uncle Steven my new mommy?” Mirjam asked as Steven rested his head on Mikael's shoulder.

Steven looked over Mikael's shoulder to the child. Her eyes were the same as Mikael's, chocolate brown and already so sharp. He pulled away from his lover, letting him take care of his child.

“No, dearheart.” Mikael kneeled in front of her. “Why don't you find a room for your bed, and we will get the things out of the car?”

The blonde girl nodded, sliding off the sofa and bouncing up the stairs after her sister.

They listened to the footsteps running on the floor upstairs, the girls checking out each and every room. “Well, Mor, help me get their things inside?”

Steven nodded, stepping shoeless into the patio and out to the car park. “I don't fancy being called Mum.”

Mikael popped the boot, reaching in for one of the suitcases. “Shame, because their Far only sleeps with their Mum.”

Steven had his arm on the raised boot. “Mayhap I can get used to it then.” He reached in and grabbed another duffel bag.

“As long as you changed those sheets on your bed. Nasty they were.” Mikael hauled two cases into their new house, waiting for Steven to shut the hatch. “You did get food, yes?”

Steven rolled his eyes. This fatherhood thing was going to test his patience. “Yes, dear.”


End file.
